short time before--that several little
boys and girls, Miss Edgeworth's nephews and nieces were so delighted
with the "**Tales From Denmark**," that they not only read and re-read
them continually, but used _to act the stories_ together in their
play-hours!

And a certain little dark-eyed thing of my acquaintance, "little
Nelly," or "the little gipsey," as I sometimes call her, knows the
whole story of "Ellie and the Pretty Swallow," by heart; and another
"wee thing," that cannot yet read, but is always wanting to have
stories told her, knows all about Kay and Gerda, and the
flower-garden, and how Gerda went to look for her brother, inquiring
of every body she met, and how at last the good sister found him.

In Copenhegan, as Andersen himself told me, all the children know him.
"And," he said, with such a countenance that showed such homage was
dearer to him than the more splendid honors paid as tributes to his
genius, "as I walk along the street, the little darlings nod and kiss
their hands to me; and they say to one another, 'There's Andersen!'
and then some more run and wave their hands. Oh yes, they all know me.
But sometimes, if there be one who does not, then, perhaps, his mamma
will say, 'Look, that is he who wrote the story you read the other
day, and that you liked so much;' and so we soon get acquainted." And
_this_ popularity delights him more than anything; and you surely
cannot call it vanity.

In the account he has written of his life, he relates a circumstance
that happened to him at Dresden; and it is so pretty that I insert it
here. He writes: "An evening that for me was particularly interesting
I spent with the royal family, who received me most graciously. Here
reigned the same quiet that is found in private life in a happy
family. A whole troop of amiable children, all belonging to Prince
John, were present. The youngest of the princesses, a little girl who
knew that I had written the story of 'The Fir-tree,' began familiarly
her conversation with me in these words: 'Last Christmas we also had a
fir-tree, and it stood here in this very room.' Afterwards, when she
was taken to bed earlier than the others, and had wished her parents
and the king and queen 'Good night,' she turned round once more at the
half-closed door, and nodded to me in a friendly manner, and as though
we were old acquaintance. I was her prince of the fairy tale."

But it is not the praise of the great, or the admiration of a c