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Updated: May 10, 2025
"My thoughts were rather pleasant than amusing," replied Lucian, giving the hand that lay in his a squeeze, "but I was thinking of Hans Andersen's tale of the Elder Mother Tree, and of the old couple who sat enjoying their golden wedding under the linden, with the red sunlight shining on their silver crowns."
It grew lighter and lighter, and I took to reading the advertisements near the door. I could even make out the grinning lean letters of "winding- sheets to be had at Miss Andersen's" on the right of it. That occupied me for a long while. I heard the clock below strike eight as I got up and put on my clothes. I opened the window and looked out.
Then we remember that in Hans Christian Andersen's day, and for a long time before, the Emperor of China was not a Chinaman and the great grievance was that Chinamen were the very people he would not have about him. When we speak of the Roman Catholic Church, we jump at the conclusion that it is the church of the Romans and that the people of Rome have had the most to do with its extension.
This man became Andersen's friend for life, for the grains of gold which he saw in his work, marred though it was by want of education, roused his interest. The director brought Andersen to the notice of the King, and he was sent to the Latin school, where he took his place although now a grown man among the boys in the lowest class but one.
John, who was Lord Mountararat, one of Phyllis' two suitors from the House of Lords, was looking out of the window absently, humming under his breath one of his songs: "It seems that she's a fairy From Andersen's library And we took her for The proprietor Of a Ladies' Seminary!" One of the unaccountable silences which sometimes fall made every absently-sung word quite audible.
You will like Hans Andersen's fairy tales, I know. Keep it as long as you please. I have many more." "You're so good! I wish I had something for you," said the boy, quite overcome by this sweet friendliness. "Let me see one of your books. They will be new to me. I'm tired of all mine."
The remedy then was, for those who knew how, to take off one hind wheel of the carriage and put it in the carriage, when the devil would have to act as hind wheel to the end of the journey, much to his supposed discomfort. There are many stories of this." "Hans Christian Andersen's stories have made us acquainted with Nissen, or the house goblin," said Hardy.
Hans Christian Andersen's story of The Ugly Duckling is one of the best illustrations of the uselessness and needlessness of much of the worry of parents with which I am familiar. How the poor mother duck worried because one of her brood was so large and ugly.
Andersen's exquisite story was not so readily accepted, yet this too before long showed a book-marker. And Miriam's countenance brightened; she could not conceal this effect. Her step was a little lighter, and her speech became more natural. A relapse was to be expected; it came at the bidding of sirocco. One morning the heavens lowered, grey, rolling; it might have been England.
Andersen, as if he were thinking of something else, raised his cane. With all his strength he hit the officer on the head, each blow descending with a dull, ugly thud. The officer reeled in a circle, struck a bush, and sat down after the second blow, covering his head with both hands, as children do. Some one ran up and discharged a revolver as if from Andersen's own hand.
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