Other editions of book The Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen

Hans Christian A ndersen, without knowing it, prescribed a healthy tonic for more than one writer in England and A merica. It would be a pity not to acknowledge this. He was not well known in either country when Mary Howitt published her translations of his stories in England. Perhaps her intimacy with Frederica Bremer, theS wedish novelist, opened the way to her acquaintance with theD anish story-teller. The children of England and America had the first benefit of this invasion of theD ane. For, by a rather provoking law, it will happen that the literature of chiljood is sadly apt to fall into the ruts of sentimentalists or of mechanics. Anybody can write a childs book is the false theory of publishers in the decline which comes upon childrens books once in a generation. As an experienced editor once said to me, ninety-nine hundredths of the articles sent to him about boys and girls are written by ladies who never had the charge of either boy or girl. Into the midst of books thus written down for children there comes, once in a generation, such a revelation as the publication of Grimm sF airy Tales made early in this century, as the appearance in England of Andersen schildren sstories, made. And again, such as children enjoyed whenS tevenson spoems for them appeared. Probably Stevenson spoems would not have been written but for such prose poems as The Constant Tin Soldier. For certain soldiers lately dead Our reverent dirge shall here be said: Them, when their martial leader called, IN odread preparative appalled, But leaden-hearted, leaden-heeled, I marked them steadfast in the field. Death grimly sided with the foe, And smote each leaden hero low; Proudly they perished one by one; The dread pea-cannon swork was done IO hnot for them the tears we shed, Consigned to their congenial lead ;B ut while unmoved their sleep they take, We mourn for their dear capt(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)

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The coffin was carried to the grave, and the disconsolate mother sat with her young daughters. She looked at them, but she saw them not; for her thoughts were far away from the domestic hearth. She gave herself up to her grief, and it tossed her to and fro, as the sea tosses a ship without compass or rudder. So the day of the funeral passed away, and similar days followed, of dark, wearisome pain. With tearful eyes and mournful glances, the sorrowing daughters and the afflicted husband looked upon her who would not hear their words of comfort; and, indeed, what comforting words could they speak, when they were themselves so full of grief? It seemed as if she would never again know sleep, and yet it would have been her best friend, one who would have strengthened her body and poured peace into her soul. They at last persuaded her to lie down, and then she would lie as still as if she slept.

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A STORY in the garden all the apple-trees were in blossom. They had hastened to bring forth flowers before they got green leaves, and in the yard all the ducklings walked up and down, and the cat too: it basked in the sun and licked the sunshine from its own paws. And when one looked at the fields, how beautifully the corn stood and how green it shone, without comparison! and there was a twittering and a fluttering of all the little birds, as if the day were a great festival; and so it was, for it was Sunday. All the bells were ringing, and all the people went to church, looking cheerful, and dressed in their best clothes. There was a look of cheerfulness on everything. The day was so warm and beautiful that one might well have said: “God’s kindness to us men is beyond all limits.” But inside the church the pastor stood in the pulpit, and spoke very loudly and angrily. He said that all men were wicked, and God would punish them for their sins, and that the wicked, when they died, would be cast into hell, to burn for ever and ever. He spoke very excitedly, saying that their evil propensities would not be destroyed, nor would the fire be extinguished, and they should never find rest. That was terrible to hear, and he said it in such a tone of conviction; he described hell to them as a miserable hole where all the refuse of the world gathers. There was no air beside the hot burning sulphur flame, and there was no ground under their feet; they, the wicked ones, sank deeper and deeper, while eternal silence surrounded them! It was dreadful to hear all that, for the preacher spoke from his heart, and all the people in the church were terrified. Meanwhile, the birds sang merrily outside, and the sun was shining so beautifully warm, it seemed as though every little flower said: “God, Thy kindness towards us all is without limits.” Indeed, outside it was not at all like the pastor’s sermon.

This is a reproduction of a book published before 1923. This book may have occasional imperfections such as missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. that were either part of the original artifact, or were introduced by the scanning process. We believe this work is culturally important, and despite the imperfections, have elected to bring it back into print as part of our continuing commitment to the preservation of printed works worldwide. We appreciate your understanding of the imperfections in the preservation process, and hope you enjoy this valuable book.