ere out.

The little leaves are springing green,
The skies above are blue;
The primrose everywhere is seen,
The almond's blooming too.
Of course, you don't expect to stay
When flowers are round about,
And so, good fire, again I say
It's time that you were out.

But when, once more, November chill
Its cloak of mist has spread,
And o'er the lonely winter hill
The sun goes soon to bed,
We'll call you back with joyous shout,
And, as the shades descend,
We'll draw the blinds to shut them out
And greet you as a friend.

JOHN LEA.

A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

True Tales of the Year 1805.

IV.--THE STORY OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

On the 2nd of April, 1805, was born, amid very humble surroundings, a
little Danish boy named Hans Christian Andersen, who, in later years,
became the most popular tale-writer that perhaps the world has ever
known. Andersen's Fairy Tales, though written in a past century, and for
another generation, are just as popular to-day as they ever were, and it
seems as if all children (and grown-up people who have kept their
child-like hearts) could never tire of these delightful stories. We can
all read, and re-read, the 'Ugly Duckling,' or the 'Eleven Wild Swans;'
we can sympathise with the love of the faithful 'Tin Soldier;' and who
can resist laughing at all the outrageous performances of 'Little Claus
and Big Claus?' Truly, Andersen had the key to unlock all hearts!

[Illustration: Hans Christian Andersen.
Born April 2, 1805. Died August 4, 1875.]

Now for the story of the writer's life.

The father of Hans Andersen was only a poor shoe-maker, but he loved
reading and poetry, and seems to have taught his little boy a similar
love. The shoe-maker amused himself by making a toy theatre for his
little Hans, and showed him how to work the puppets, and make them act
little plays. This was a winter amusement. In the long summer days he
would often take the child to the woods--and here, in the great birch
forests, the two would spend the hours, hardly saying a word to each
other, but each dreaming his own dreams as they sauntered along the
shady paths.

But these happy childish days soon came to an end: the kind father died,
and Hans had to go to a charity school, where he learnt little beyond
reading and writing.

Money was now very scarce in his home, and both Hans and his mother were
often hard pu