ourt,
on which he sets most value, as you will see by the following extract
from a letter which I received from him to-day, only an hour or two
ago. It is about his stay in England, and his visit to the north,
after I had left him, and I am sure he will not mind my sharing thus
much of what he writes to me with you. "The hearty welcome I met with
in Scotland moved me greatly. My writings were so well known, I found
so many friends, that I can hardly take in so much happiness. But I
must relate you one instance: in Edinburgh I went with a party of
friends to Heriot's Hospital, where orphan children are taken care of
and educated. We were all obliged to inscribe our names in the
visitors' book. The porter read the names, and asked if that was
Andersen the author: and when some one answered 'Yes,' the old man
folded his hands and gazed quite in ecstacy at an old gentleman who
was with us, and said: 'Yes, yes! he is just as I had always fancied
him to myself--the venerable white hair--the mild expression--yes,
that is Andersen!' They then explained to him that I was the person.
'That young man!' he exclaimed; 'Why generally such people, when one
hears about them, are either dead or very old.' When the story was
told me, I at first thought it was a joke; but the porter came up to
me in a most touching manner, and told me how he and all the boys
entered so entirely and heartily into my stories. It so affected me
that I almost shed tears."

This is indeed popularity!

Now I dare say you thought that the little princes and princesses in a
king's palace had tastes and feelings very different from a poor
charity-boy; but you see, although so different in rank, they were
alike in one thing--they were both children; and childhood, if left to
itself, is in all situations the same.

And do you know, too, my little friends, that you are very excellent
critics? Yes, most sage and excellent critics; though I dare say not
one of you even ever dreamt of such a thing. But it is, nevertheless,
true; and not some, but all of you, whether in England, Scotland, or
Ireland--the little boys in Heriot's Hospital, and the little princess
at Dresden who knew the story of "The Fir-Tree." For without one
dissentient voice you have passed favorable judgment on these stories:
in your estimation of them your were unanimous.

Yet when they first appeared in Denmark some of the critics by
profession found fault with them, and wondered, as they said,