among fairies and holds sweet converse with fishes, and
frogs, and beetles! I would have picked him out from among a thousand
men at the first glance as a candidate for Congress, or the
proprietor of a tavern, if I had met him any where in the United
States. But the resemblance was only momentary. In the quaint
awkwardness of his gestures and the simplicity of his speech there was
a certain refinement not usually found among men of that class.
Something in the spontaneous and almost childlike cordiality of his
greeting; the unworldly impulsiveness of his nature, as he grasped
both my hands in his, patted me affectionately on the shoulder, and
bade me welcome, convinced me in a moment that this was no other, and
could be no other, than Hans Christian Andersen.

"Come in! come in!" he said, in a gush of broken English; "come in and
sit down. You are very welcome. Thank you--thank you very much. I am
very glad to see you. It is a rare thing to meet a traveler all the
way from California--quite a surprise. Sit down! Thank you!"

And then followed a variety of friendly compliments and remarks about
the Americans. He liked them; he was sorry they were so unfortunate as
to be engaged in a civil war, but hoped it would soon be over. Did I
speak French? he asked, after a pause. Not very well. Or German? Still
worse, was my answer. "What a pity!" he exclaimed; "it must trouble
you to understand my English, I speak it so badly. It is only within a
few years that I have learned to speak it at all." Of course I
complimented him upon his English, which was really better than I had
been led to expect. "Can you understand it?" he asked, looking
earnestly in my face. "Certainly," I answered, "almost every word."
"Oh, thank you--thank you. You are very good," he cried, grasping me
by the hand. "I am very much obliged to you for understanding me." I
naturally thanked him for being obliged to me, and we shook hands
cordially, and mutually thanked one another over again for being so
amiable. The conversation, if such it could be called, flew from
subject to subject with a rapidity that almost took my breath away.
The great improvisator dashed recklessly into every thing that he
thought would be interesting to an American traveler, but with the
difficulty of his utterance in English, and the absence of any
knowledge on his part of my name or history, it was evident he was a
little embarrassed in what way to oblige me most; and the trouble