{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_11319/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_11319","id":"gutenberg_11319","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11319","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction","Children's Myths, Fairy Tales, etc.","Christian life -- Juvenile fiction","Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction","Fairy tales"],"text":"Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustration.\n      See 11319-h.htm or 11319-h.zip:\n      (http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/1/3/1/11319/11319-h/11319-h.htm)\n      or\n      (http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/1/3/1/11319/11319-h.zip)\n\n      Images of the original pages are available through the Florida\n      Board of Education, Division of Colleges and Universities,\n      PALMM Project, 2001. (Preservation and Access for American and\n      British Children's Literature, 1850-1869.) See\n      http://purl.fcla.edu/fcla/dl/UF00001801.jpg\n      or\n      http://purl.fcla.edu/fcla/dl/UF00001801.pdf\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAIRY GODMOTHERS AND OTHER TALES.\n\nBY MRS. ALFRED GATTY.\n\n1851.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: HERMIONE SKETCHING.]\n\n\n\nCol miele, e non coll' aceto si piglian le mosche.\n\n_Italian Proverb_.\n\n\n\n\nTo My Children\n\nThese tales are most affectionately dedicated. They were written in\nhours of sickness, but are intended to be read by the healthy and\njoyous young: and to illustrate some favourite and long cherished\nconvictions.\n\nMargaret Gatty.\n\nEcclesfield Vicarage,\n27th March, 1851.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nThe Fairy Godmothers\n\nJoachim the Mimic\n\nDarkness and Light\n\nThe Love of God\n\n\n\nThe design for the Frontispiece which adorns this volume is by the\npencil of the writer's kind and highly gifted friend, Miss Lucette E.\nBarker.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAIRY GODMOTHERS.\n\n\nIn one of the beautiful bays on the coast of Fairy Land, a party of\nFairies was assembled on a lovely evening in July. There are many\nbeautiful bays on the coast of England, and there is one especially,\nmy dear little readers, which you and I know of, where a long line of\ngrand old rocks stretches far into the sea on the left-hand extremity,\nwhile in the distance to the right a warning lighthouse with its\nchanging lights gives an almost solemn beauty to the scene; for one\ncannot help thinking, at the sight of it, of the poor storm-driven\nmariner, whom even that friendly light may fail to save from a sad and\nsudden death. But beautiful as this little bay is, of which I speak,\nand fond as we are of it, it is nothing, I do assure you, compared to\nthe bays in Fairy Land! There, there are no light-houses reminding one\npainfully of danger and destruction near, but all is loveliness and\npeace; and even the rocks would be turned into soft pillows by the\ngood-natured Fairies who inhabit the country, should any strange\naccident drive a mortal ship on that shore.\n\nAlso the bays in Fairy Land face to the west, which is a great\nadvantage, for in an evening there you may sit and watch the golden\nsun dipping behind the waves; and the rich red tints he sends out upon\nthe rocks before he sets, are beyond measure beautiful and attractive.\nEspecially, I believe, the Fairies enjoy this time of day, for they\nare odd little creatures, rather conceited, and fond of everything\npretty; consequently they like to be floating about the rocks in their\nwhite dresses when the crimson and golden hues of sunset shine on\nthem, knowing very well they look like so many bright flowers on the\noccasion.\n\nThe day I speak of however had been very hot, and at the time I speak\nof, the Fairies felt a little lazy and were reclining on some rocks\ncovered with sea-weed and amusing themselves by talking. In general\nthe conversation of these little creatures is rather light and\nfrivolous and gay; but it is really a fact that they were just then\nall serious together and all were engaged in a very profound\nconversation on human happiness.\n\nI am sorry to have so many explanations to give, but I think it quite\nnecessary to tell you the reason of so uncommon an event as a party\nof Fairies being serious. Well then, there were going to be, very\nshortly, several extremely gay christenings in the world, and some of\nthe Fairies had been invited to attend at them as Godmothers, in order\nthat they might bestow Fairy gifts on the different infants.\n\nFour or five of the christenings were to take place the next day, and\nthe Fairies who were going were discussing with each other what gifts\nthey should bestow, and as their only object was to ensure the\nhappiness of the children for whom they were interested, they\nnaturally fell into a discourse as to what gifts were most likely to\nhave so charming an effect. \"Your Godchild is a girl too, I believe,\"\nsaid Euphrosyne to Ianthe [Fairies are privileged, you know, to have\nromantic names] \"what do you think of bestowing upon her?\" \"Why,\"\nanswered Ianthe, \"the old story, I suppose--BEAUTY: at least such\nwas my intention, but if you can any of you show me I am wrong in\nsupposing it a cause of happiness to the mortal race, why, I suppose\nI must give her ugliness instead.\"\n\n\"Sister, I hope you will do no such thing,\" murmured a young Fairy who\nlay near twining seaweeds into a wreath. \"I never until this evening\nheard a doubt upon the subject, and to tell you the truth the only\ntime I ever envy a mortal is when I see a regular beauty enter a large\nassembly. Oh, the triumph of that moment! Every eye turned upon her;\nmurmurs of admiration, not unmixed with envy, greeting her as she\nsweeps along; everyone courting her acquaintance; a word, a smile of\nhers more valued than a pearl or a ruby. A sort of queen of Nature's\nown making, reigning royally in undisputed sway, let her circumstances\nof life be what they may! Look how mean the richest woman who is ugly\nlooks by the side of her! No no, dear Ianthe, make your little lady\nhandsome, and you have done the best that Fairy can do for her. I\ndeclare I envy her beforehand! Here where we are all so beautiful\ntogether there is no interest or excitement about it--it is quite\nflat.\" And so saying the young fairy Leila laid herself down to her\nwreath again. \"Why, Leila, you are absolutely eloquent!\" observed\nIanthe, \"Beauty it certainly must be.\"\n\n\"Oh, I declare,\" pursued Ianthe, rousing up again, \"I have sometimes\nreally wished myself ugly, that I might some day have the pleasure of\nsuddenly finding myself beautiful!\"\n\n\"Oh, but then,\" said a Fairy from behind, \"is there no danger of your\nregular beauty, as you call her, getting as tired of being beautiful\nas you are, and wishing herself ugly too?\"\n\n\"Certainly, not,\" answered Ianthe, \"for, for an earthly beauty there\nwould always be the excitement of being envied.\"\n\n\"Come, come,\" persisted the former speaker, \"then the gift of being\nenvied would be the best thing to bestow, at all events a necessary\naddition.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" cried Leila, stopping her ears, \"I can't argue, I never could--I\ncan't hear any more, I am quite satisfied that I am right; you can't\nargue away the pleasure of being a beauty in a ball-room. Ask any of\nthem themselves.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Ianthe, \"we need pursue the subject no further. I am\nresolved. My baby is to be beautiful, beautiful as the dawn of the\nmorning; they shall call her Aurora!\"\n\n\"I shall not follow your example,\" observed Euphrosyne, \"I don't at\nall like that notion of the necessity of _envy_ to make the beauty's\njoy complete. Besides, I'm not at all sure beauty is not much more\ncharming in idea than in possession. Nobody spend their lives in\nentering a ball-room, and one gets sadly tired of one's own face. I'm\nsure _I_ do, beautiful as it is;\" and as she spoke the Fairy stooped\nover a clear tide pool which mirrored her lovely countenance; \"and yet\nlook what a nose I have! It is absolutely exquisite! And this hair!\"\nand she held up her long silken curling tresses and looked at them\nreflected in the water as she spoke. A musical laugh rang through the\nfairy group. Euphrosyne resumed her seat. \"There isn't a mortal damsel\nin the world who would not go into raptures to resemble me,\" pursued\nshe, \"and yet--but, oh dear, I am getting quite prosy, and it is quite\nuseless, for Ianthe has decided. I, on the contrary, am thinking of\nsomething far less romantic and interesting, but I suspect far more\nnecessary to the happiness of mortals than beauty--I mean RICHES.\"\n\n\"Men are horribly fond of them, certainly,\" observed the Fairy from\nbehind, whose name was Ambrosia. \"I can't endure men on that very\naccount. Look at the grubby wretched lives they lead in\ncounting-houses and banks, and dreadful dingy holes and corners of\ngreat towns, where we wouldn't set the soles of our feet, and this for\nforty or fifty years, perhaps, in order that in the fifty-first, or\nperhaps later still, they may turn into butterflies for the little bit\nof life that is left to them. And such butterflies, too! not knowing\nwhat to do with their gay coats and fine wings when they get them at\nlast.\"\n\n\"I think you are putting an extreme case,\" observed Euphrosyne.\n\"Though the grubs themselves may not thoroughly enjoy the riches they\nhave so laboriously acquired, their children or grandchildren may, and\nlive at ease and enjoy them. I should not think of bestowing great\nriches on uneducated paupers. But it is another matter to give them to\npeople whom education has refined, and who would know how to enjoy and\nemploy them.\"\n\n\"I wonder,\" suggested a very little Fairy, scarcely grown to her full\nsize, \"why you don't just give your Godchildren moderate good health,\nand enough money to make them quite comfortable without puzzling\nthem?\"\n\n\"You are a complete Solomon,\" observed Euphrosyne, \"but you must know,\nmy dear, that moderate good health and a mere comfortable competency\nwould hardly be considered Fairy gifts by our friends in the lower\nworld. These things are, as it were, the absolute _necessities_ of a\nhappy life; they are the beef and mutton (to borrow an earthly simile)\nof the entertainment. Fairy gifts form the somewhat unnecessary (and\nquestionably wholesome) second course, the sweets, the bonbons, the\nluscious luxuries of the repast.\n\n\"Very few, by comparison, get them. Very few infants you know have\nFairy Godmothers, but we make it a rule that those who have, shall\nalways be distinguished from the crowd. Other-wise our power would not\nbe believed in. No, my little Aglaia, all our Godchildren start from\nthe point you spoke of--'caeteris paribus,' as those dingy black\nlawyers say--all other things being equal--it is a question now of\nbestowing extra superfine Fairy gifts.\"\n\nAglaia tittered--\"I know Sister Euphrosyne is thinking of the\nchristening suppers, and the whipped creams, and the syllabubs!\" and\naway she tripped to the other end of the bay, lest the older Fairies\nshould scold her for impertinence.\n\n\"Certainly,\" pursued Euphrosyne, \"I have a great contempt for riches\nmyself. Bah! the idea of all the troublesome as well as wicked things\nmen do in order that they may be able to keep a lumbering thing they\ncall a carriage, to drive them round a dirty town. Just think of that\none thing alone! It is hardly credible.\" And Euphrosyne laid her head\nby the side of Leila's, and looked up into the deep blue sky.\n\n\"Remember,\" said Ambrosia, from behind, \"it is a choice with poor\nmortals between heavy foot-walking, and the lumbering vehicles you\ntalk of. Perhaps when their legs ache terribly, the carriages are not\nsuch bad things. We can hardly judge dispassionately in such a matter,\nwe who can float and fly!\" and the delicate Ambrosia, springing up,\nfloated softly round the bay, and then returned smiling to her\ncompanions. \"It made me almost ill to think of aching legs,\" observed\nshe, \"how I do pity the mortal race!\"\n\n\"How pretty you looked as the sun shone golden upon your white robe,\"\nexclaimed Leila, \"It was a sight for a mortal painter to die of!\"\n\n\"A genius for painting would be a grand Fairy gift,\" observed Ianthe.\n\n\"Too doubtful of success,\" answered Euphrosyne, \"and the Musician's\npower the same; besides musicians always die young and with exhausted\nminds. The art is too much for mortal nerves.\"\n\n\"Their atmosphere is too thick,\" said Leila. \"How tired I am of your\ndiscussions! Let us sing! Whatever music may be to them, it is food to\nus.\"\n\nThen all those beautiful Fairies arose and joining hands on the rocks\nthey sang to the now dying Sun a chorus of Fairy Land! Now and then\nthese ravishing melodies are permitted to reach to mortal ears:\nchiefly in dreams to the sick and sorrowful, for Fairies have great\ncompassion on such, and allow them a distant taste of this, the most\nexquisite of their enjoyments.\n\nThere was no more discussion that night, nor did they argue much the\nnext morning. There was the rising sun to welcome from the sleeping\ncaves on the eastern side of their country, and the bath to be\nenjoyed, and their wings to plume, and sweet odours to gather from the\nearly flowers; and the time passed so quickly, they only met to take a\nhurried leave. \"We must understand each other however, before we\nseparate,\" said Euphrosyne.\n\n\"Dear Ianthe, your Gift is Beauty?\" \"It is.\" \"And mine is Riches,\"\nsaid Euphrosyne. \"All the pleasures of life shall be at my Godchild's\nfeet,\" said another Fairy, laughing. \"If that will not ensure\nhappiness, I know not what will.\" Ambrosia held back--\"Your choice,\ndear Sister?\" asked Euphrosyne.\n\n\"Come! we have no time to lose.\"\n\n\"It must remain a secret,\" was the reply. \"Our discourse yesterday\nevening was so thoughtful, so sad, I could not sleep. I arose hours\nbefore you this morning, ere daylight streaked the sky. Dear Sisters,\nhow shocked you will be to hear I wept; but now I have determined. If\nmy gift succeed I will tell you all about it, or you shall guess it\nyourselves; for I now propose that our Fairy Gifts this year shall be\na sort of experiment on human happiness. Let us from time to time\nvisit in company our young charges, and let the result--that is, which\nof our Gifts is proved to confer the greatest amount of happiness, be\nwritten in the archives of our kingdom for the future benefit of the\nmortal race.\"\n\nA murmur of approbation rose, sweet as the vibration of a harp-chord\nthrough the assembly.\n\nThere was no time for enquiry about the other gifts: the travelling\nFairies arose and beat their gauzy wings upon the western breeze. A\nmelodious rushing was just audible; the distant murmurs of the earthly\nsea the most resemble that sweet dream of sound. In a few moments the\ndeparting sisters became invisible, and those who remained returned to\nfloat by the sea shore, or make sweet music in the bowers of their\nenchanted land.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTime is a very odd sort of thing, dear readers. We neither know whence\nit comes nor whither it goes;--nay we know nothing about it in fact\nexcept that there is one little moment of it called the present, which\nwe have as it were in our hands to make use of--but beyond this we can\ngive no account of, even that little moment. It is ours to use, but\nnot to understand. There is one thing in the world, however, quite as\nwonderful, and quite as common, and that is, _the Wind_. Did it never\nstrike you how strange it was that the strongest thing in the world\nshould be _invisible_? The nice breezes we feel in summer and the\nroughest blasts we feel in winter in England are not so extremely\nstrong you will say: but I am speaking, besides these, of the winds\ncalled hurricanes that arise in the West Indian Islands, and in other\nplaces in the world. These dreadful hurricanes have at times done as\nmuch mischief as earthquakes and lightning. They tear down the\nstrongest trees, overthrow the firmest houses and spread ruin and\ndesolation around, and yet this terrible power, so tremendous, and\nagainst which the cleverest contrivances can provide no defence, is as\ninvisible as the great Maker of Heaven and Earth. How unbelieving many\npeople would look if you told them of a dreadful creature that was\ncoming to the world, which could be heard to roar, be felt to knock\ndown every thing in its path--men, women and children, houses,\nchurches, towers, castles, cities, and trees the most firmly\nrooted--and yet which you could never catch the faintest glimpse of,\nfor it was always invisible, even when it roared the loudest! As\ninvisible then, as when in its mildest moods, it, as it were, purred\nsoftly over the country like a cat. How the good people would laugh,\nand tell you you were very silly to believe in such a thing. Yet I\nthink this is not at all an incorrect description of the great\ninvisible Power WIND. Now the lesson we may learn from this is to be\nhumble-minded; for since we live in the constant presence of a Power\nwe cannot see, we ought to feel it is equally possible other Powers\nmay exist of which our other senses cannot take cognizance. There is\nan old proverb--\"Seeing is believing\"--but you perceive, dear readers,\nwe are forced to believe in the wind though we never see him at all.\n\nTo return to Time who is travelling fast on while I am rambling after\nthe wind, he has puzzled the artists a good deal I should say, for\nwith all their skill at representation they have never hit upon any\nbetter idea of him than an old Man with wings. An old man with wings!\nCan you fancy anything so unnatural! One can quite understand\nbeautiful young Angels with wings. Youth and power and swiftness\nbelong to them. Also Fairies with wings are quite comprehensible\ncreatures; for one fancies them so light and airy and transparent,\nliving upon honey dew and ambrosia, that wings wherewith to fly seem\ntheir natural appendages. But the decrepitude of old age and the wings\nof youth and power are a strange mixture:--a bald head, and a Fairy's\nswiftness!--how ridiculous it seems, and so I think I may well say\nTime is a very odd sort of thing.\n\nAmong those who have to deal with Time, few are more puzzled how to\nmanage him than we story-tellers. In my first chapter, for instance, I\ngave you a half-hour's conversation among some Fairies, but I think\nyou would be very angry with me were I to give you as exactly every\nhalf-hour that passed over the heads of the little girls with Fairy\nGodmothers, till they grew up. How you would scold, dear little\nreaders, if I were to enter into a particular description of each\nchild's Nurse, and tell whether Miss Aurora, Miss Julia, Miss\nHermione, &c. &c. &c. were brought up on baked flour, groat-gruel,\nrusks, tops and bottoms, or revalenta food! Whether they took more\ncastor-oil, or rhubarb and magnesia; whether they squalled on those\noccasions or were very good. When they cut their teeth and how,\ntogether with all the &c. and ups and downs of Nursery life which\nlarge families, such as you and I belong to, go through daily.\n\nWell then, suppose I altogether pass over a period of ten years, and\nenter into no minute particulars respecting that portion of Time. You\nmust know that the Fairies had agreed that all the children should\nhave the same (and rather a large) amount of intellect, or what you\nwould call cleverness: that is to say, they were all equally capable\nof learning anything they chose to learn: also they had all fair\nhealth, plenty to eat and drink, and all the so called \"necessary\"\ncomforts of life.\n\nNow then to our story.\n\nAt the end of ten years the Fairies agreed to go and have a peep how\ntheir charges were going on. They quite knew that nothing decisive\ncould be found out, till the children had come to years of discretion\nand were their own mistresses. Still they thought it would amuse them\njust to go and see how the charms were working, as it were; so, away\nthey went.\n\nNow picture to yourselves a nice large nursery, much such a one as\nyour own, in which several children are playing. The eldest, a girl of\nten, you may see yonder lounging--gracefully perhaps--but still\n_lounging_ in a rocking chair which she is swinging backwards and\nforwards, having set it in motion by the action of her foot on the\nfloor. What a lovely face! I do not think you ever saw one so handsome\nexcept in a print in one of Mamma's best picture books. All the\nfeatures are perfectly good and in proportion, and the dark blue eyes\nare fringed by the longest eyelashes ever seen. The hair of this\nlittle girl too--look at it, as the soft chestnut ringlets wave about\non her shoulders as she swings, and show the round richness of the\ncurls.\n\nNow if you ask about the expression on her face, I must tell you it\nwas rather languid and \"_pensieroso_.\" Pensieroso is an Italian word\nreally meaning thoughtful--but this little girl was not _thinking_,\nfor then the expression of her face would have been much stronger and\nfirmer and less languid; but the word has got to be used for a sort of\nawake-dreamy state when one lets thoughts float lazily along without\nhaving any energy to dwell upon them, and see whether they are good or\nbad.\n\nThe thought that was passing through this little girl's head at the\ntime I mention and which made her look so languid and pensieroso, was\n\n  \"I wish it was 6 o'clock.\"\n\nNow here you are ready to laugh, I know, for there was nothing to look\nso languid about, in \"I wish it was six o'clock!\" but the fact was\nthis: at half-past six the little girl's Mamma was expecting a large\nparty to dinner and the little girl was to dress at six and be ready\nto go down and see the company:--I might add _and to be seen by them_;\nfor the little girl was, as you will have guessed, the beautiful\nAurora herself, and there had been plenty of foolish people, though\nher good Mamma was not one of them, to tell her how pretty she was and\nhow much people admired her.\n\nIt is a very pleasant thing to be admired, both for children and grown\nup people. \"The love of approbation,\" as it is called, i.e. the wish\nto be approved of and admired is a feeling which is very strong in\nmost people; not in quite all, perhaps, but in _most_ people\ncertainly. But like all other powers of the mind considered apart from\nthe influence of the heart and conscience, it is capable of being used\nto a very bad or a very good purpose. Thus you may remember what our\nSaviour says of the Pharisees who stood praying at the corners of the\nstreets that they might be seen of men: Verily, they had their\nreward--viz: that men admired them: whereas those who do good deeds\nand pray privately, i.e. unseen and unadmired by men, should verily\nhave their reward in that day when God who seeth in secret himself\nshall reward them openly.\n\nHere you see is the same strong feeling,--love of approbation,\nexercised in a wrong and a right direction. The Pharisees wish for the\napprobation of men, good people wish for the approbation of God.\n\nNow, love of approbation exists about much smaller matters than I have\njust been mentioning. But I would warn my young readers, that, to be\nalways thinking, and bothering yourselves as to what other people are\nthinking about you, is one of the most uncomfortable and injurious\nhabits a person can get into. It makes them so selfish and\negotistical. And here was one of Aurora's dangers. Because she knew\nshe was pretty, she was always wondering what other people were\nthinking about her, a habit which so far from contributing to what the\ngood Fairy had wished, viz. her happiness, was constantly spoiling her\ncomfort from hour to hour. And here, at ten years old, was this little\nlady swinging languidly and idly on the rocking chair, wishing it was\nsix o'clock, instead of enjoying, as she might so well have done, that\nsmall portion of time, time present, which is, as I told you before,\nthe only bit of him we can ever lay hold of, as it were. Of time\npresent, just then, she thought nothing. She would have said, (had she\nbeen asked), that the old gentleman moved very slowly in spite of his\nwings, for her eye was fixed on that delightful time future, six\no'clock. Well! at last the clock struck, and Aurora sprang from her\nchair,--her whole face altered in a moment. \"Now, Nurse, I may dress,\nmay I not?\" she exclaimed, radiant with animation, and all the languor\nand dreaminess gone over like a cloud from before the sun. And it is\ntrue that just then Aurora was happy. It was a pleasant task to her to\narrange and smooth that curling hair, and to put on the simple white\ndress she knew set off her beauty so well. But alas! for the happiness\ncaused by thoughts of _one's self_! The toilet over, she ran down to\nher Mamma, and was welcomed with a smile of fondness and approbation.\nIndeed, when she was happy, a sweeter face could not be seen, for she\nwas not a naughty child, and if it had not been for the Fairy gift, I\ndo think she would have been a very nice one.\n\nThe Fairies who invisibly had witnessed all I have described to you,\nwere not so loud in their admiration of Aurora as you or I might have\nbeen. They are so handsome themselves, they think but little of\nearthly beauty, and even Ianthe could not conscientiously say, \"What a\n_happy_ looking little girl she is.\" That was just the one thing that\nwas wanting: ay, and it continued wanting even after the room was\nfilled with company, and she was petted, and caressed, and praised on\nevery side. Her spirits became very high, however, and she enjoyed\nherself much; and it is perhaps only very very critical folk, bent on\nspying out a fault, that could have detected the little clouds of\nanxiety that now and then shot across her face. A thought of whether\nher curls were all right, or her dress untumbled, &c. just now and\nthen disturbed the charm, and prevented her forgetting herself\nsufficiently to allow her to be quite at ease and happy, and she would\nglance at herself in the mirror, and put back the hair from her brow,\nlest Mrs. I-know-not-who, who was just then entering the room, should\nnot think her quite as lovely as Mrs. Somebody-else did, who had very\nfoolishly been saying so rather in a loud tone to her Mamma.\n\nAt last the fatal time arrived to go to bed. Aurora was much too\nsensible to cry, or be cross, you must know, but as she closed the\ndoor of the drawing-room and left the gay company, a sigh very heavy\nfor so young a heart to have breathed, escaped her, and it was slowly\nshe retraced her steps up stairs. She was in reality tired, for it was\nlater than her usual bed-time, and when she went into her room she\nthrew herself on the chair and yawned. The young Nurse who attended to\nundress her, asked her if she had enjoyed herself. \"Oh yes!\" was her\nready answer. \"All is so bright, and gay, and entertaining among those\nladies, and they are so good-natured to me,\"--(another sigh coupled\nwith the recollection of, and _how much they admire me!_)--\"But I do\nso hate being a little girl, and having to go to bed. I wish the time\nwould come quicker for me to be grown up, and be down stairs\naltogether, and talk, and enjoy myself all the evening!\" Oh, Aurora,\nAurora, with that dissatisfied face where is your beauty? with that\ndiscontented mind where is your happiness?\n\n\"Your charm is not working perfectly, Sister,\" observed Euphrosyne to\nIanthe.\n\n\"Her's is not the age for perfect happiness and enjoyment as a beauty,\nremember,\" replied Ianthe, \"and she feels this herself.\"\n\n\"Man never is but always _to be_ blest,\" cried Ambrosia laughing. \"You\nsee I can quote their own poets against them.\"\n\n\"You are prejudging now, Ambrosia, wait till another ten years is\nover; but we must see our little beauty through the twenty-four\nhours.\" Ianthe now waved a tiny wand in a circle around Aurora's\nhead,--the long eyelashes sank over her eyes, and the beautiful child\nfell into a sweet and placid sleep.\n\nMorning, which awakens all young creatures to life, enjoyment, and\naction, awoke Aurora among the rest, and she arose in health and\nstrength, and the full glow of animal spirits. \"_This is_ happiness,\nhowever,\" exclaimed Ianthe to her companions, as the young girl sprang\nabout, carolling to herself the while. And so it was, for at that\nmoment no forecastings into futurity disturbed the comfort of present\npleasure: but an accidental glimpse of her face caught in a\nlooking-glass as she passed, recalled Aurora to the recollection of\nHERSELF! and the admiration she had obtained the evening before. At\nfirst some pleasure attended the remembrance, and she gazed with a\nchildish triumph at her pretty face in the glass. In a few minutes,\nhowever, the voice of her Governess calling her to lessons disturbed\nthe egotistical amusement, and the charming Aurora frowned--yes,\n_frowned!_ and looked cross at the looking-glass before she quitted\nthe apartment.\n\nAnd now, dear little readers, let me remind you that Aurora was a\nclever little girl, for the Fairy had taken care of that. She had\nevery faculty for learning, and no real dislike to it; but this\nunlucky Fairy gift was in the way of every thing she did, for it took\naway her interest in every thing but herself; and so, though she got\nthrough her lessons respectably, it was with many yawns, and not a few\nsighs, and wonderings what Mamma was doing; and did the Governess\nthink there would soon be another dinner party? and didn't the\nGoverness, when _she_ was a little girl, wish very much she was a\ngrown up woman? and, finally, she wished she had been able to talk\nwhen she was a baby at her christening, because then me would have\nbegged the Fairy Godmother to give her the gift of growing up to be a\nyoung lady very quick indeed, and of learning every thing without any\ntrouble at all! And so saying, Aurora yawned and laid down her book,\nand the poor Governess could hardly keep her temper at such repeated\ninterruptions to the subject in hand.\n\n\"My dear,\" she exclaimed, \"Fairies have no power to counteract what\nGod, has ordained, and he has ordained that we enjoy but little what\nwe get at without labour and trouble.\"\n\n\"Ah taisez-vous donc ma ch\u00e8re!\" cried Aurora, flopping her ears with\nher hands, and running round the room shaking her long curls\nfuriously. \"Vous me faites absolument fr\u00e9mir! Excuse my French, but I\nam certain you are the eldest daughter of the old woman in the wood,\nand you are just now dropping vipers, toads, newts, and efts from your\nmouth at every word you utter!\"\n\nThe good-natured Governess laughed heartily at the joke, for they had\njust been reading the old French fairy tale of \"Les deux F\u00e9es,\" and\nthe application amused her; but she shook her head gravely at Aurora\nafterwards, and reminded her that no serious truth was well answered\nby a joke, however droll.\n\nA bell rings, a carriage is at the door. Miss Aurora is wanted.\nVisiters! Ah! here is happiness again! But it lasts but a short time,\nand the reaction is the same as before--drooping eyes, languid\neyelids, and a sigh.\n\nBooks, drawing, music, work, even domestic recreations, all deprived\nof their charm through this idolatry of self!\n\nThe curtain closed over this scene.\n\n\"A charming child, Ianthe, but for your Fairy Gift, which is spoiling\nher.\"\n\n\"I repeat to you we are no judges yet. Now for riches, Euphrosyne!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt the same hour of evening, and under the same circumstances, of a\nparty about to assemble, let me introduce you to a beautiful little\nboudoir or up-stairs sitting-room adjoining an equally pretty sleeping\napartment in a magnificent house in a town. The passages are carpeted\nall over, and so are the boudoir and the sleeping-room, and they are\nfurnished with sofas, easy chairs, and every description of luxurious\ncomfort; and all this for the accommodation of a little girl of ten\nyears old, who in one of the easy chairs is lying back in front of the\nfire, with her tiny feet on a bright brass fender. She has a gold\nwatch in her hand, which is suspended round her neck by a chain of the\nsame material, and she is playing with it, and with the seals, and\npretty ornaments hung to it, that jingle as she moves her hand. Ever\nand anon she glances at the face of the watch.\n\nBut life is very easy to her, and the chair is very soft, and her feet\nare very warm. At last, however, she gets up and rings a silver bell\nthat is on the mantel-piece. A servant answers the summons. \"It is\ntime for me to dress, I believe, Annette; the company are expected\nto-day at half past six. Has my new frock come home?\"\n\n\"Yes, Miss.\"\n\n\"Let me look at it.\"\n\nA delicate blue satin, trimmed with the finest lace, is produced from\na band-box.\n\n\"It is very pretty, I think, Annette.\"\n\n\"It is downright beautiful, Miss.\"\n\n\"And so expensive,\" pursued the little girl whose name was Julia,\n\"that I don't think any one else I know is likely to imitate it, which\nis my greatest comfort!\"\n\nAnd so saying, the rich Miss Julia ---- (an only daughter), whose\ncomfort seemed to depend on no one else being as comfortable as\nherself, commenced her toilet, i.e. her maid both commenced and\nfinished it for her, for those who can command the unlimited\nassistance of servants are apt to be very idle in helping themselves.\n\n\"Your Julia looks self-satisfied enough,\" observed Ianthe, \"but I do\nnot see that this is more like real happiness than my Aurora's face\nbefore the party.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" returned Euphrosyne, \"the same remark applies to her as to\nAurora--the age for thoroughly enjoying riches is hardly arrived. You\nsmile, Ambrosia! Well, we do not yet know your experiment, and you\nyourself do not know how it has answered. Take care that our turn for\nlaughing at you does not soon come!\"\n\nJulia was dressed at the end of the half-hour, but not sooner. Her\ntoilet occupied more time than Aurora's. She could not decide what\nornaments she would wear, and at last getting out of humour with the\n\"embarras des richesses\" she fixed on a necklace which, though\nextremely handsome, was scarcely fit for a child. She was neither\npretty nor otherwise, but when good humoured and happy her face, like\nthat of all other creatures of her innocent time of life, was\nattractive and pleasant to behold. Oh, that children did but know\nwherein the secret of being loveable and beloved lies! In holding fast\nthe innocence and simplicity of their infant years; in the cheerful\nspirit, the universal kindheartedness, the open honesty, the sweet\nteachableness and readiness of belief, which are the real\ncharacteristics of childhood and which we so love to trace in their\nfaces. It was these things our Saviour called upon grown-up people to\nimitate, and so to receive the kingdom of Heaven as little children.\nAnd oh, that grown-up people would imitate these things; for if they\nwould become in these respects as little children, the sweet cast of\nmind would be reflected in _their_ faces too, and the ugly looks given\nby envious discontent, deceitful thoughts, unkind intention and\nrestless want of faith and hope would all be washed out of the world.\n\nBut now, my dear readers, can you call that the best of Fairy gifts,\nwhich had so great a tendency to bring the naughty passions of\ngrown-up life into the heart, and therefore on to the face, of a\nlittle girl? Well, but riches _have_ a tendency that way; and though\nJulia was not a very naughty girl she was being led into very sad\nfeelings by the Fairy gift. When she went down to the company, her\nsecret anxiety was to examine all the dresses of her Mamma's friends\nand resolve some day to surpass them all. Even as it was she received\nmuch pleasure from knowing that her own dress was far beyond the reach\nof ordinary folk. She thought too of her necklace with secret\nsatisfaction, when the ladies were talking to her, for she perceived\ntheir eyes frequently attracted by its brilliancy and beauty. Then her\nmind rambled into futurity, to the day when she would astonish these\nvery ladies far more than now by the richness of her costume. Ah, dear\nreaders, would our Saviour if present have called _this_ little child\nto him, and said, \"Of _such_ is the kingdom of Heaven?\" But all these\nselfish thoughts made her conversation less pleasant and cheerful than\nit would otherwise have been; for you may be sure she was not\nlistening with any interest to what was said to her, while she was\nthus planning silly schemes about herself.\n\nAnd not having listened with any interest to what was said to her, you\nmay guess that her answers were dull and stupid; for when people are\ntalking of one thing and thinking of another they become very flat\ncompanions. At times when she could forget herself she became natural\nand then was both pleasant and pleased, and asked some ladies to let\ntheir children come and see her next day, to which they consented. But\nnow came a sad drawback. One of the ladies told her that her little\ngirl should bring to shew her a most beautiful gold fillagree work-box\nset with precious stones, which one of the maids of honour about\ncourt, who was her godmother, had given her a few days before. This\nlady had saved a few of the queen's hairs very carefully, and had had\nthem placed in a little circle of crystal in the middle of the box,\nand they were set round with the most beautiful rubies. It was a\npresent worthy of a Fairy Godmother, and certainly the donor was the\ndaughter of a duchess, which perhaps is the nearest thing to being a\nfairy.\n\nYou will be shocked, my dear readers, to hear that the account of this\nbox was as disagreeable as a dose of physic to poor Julia. Nay it was\n_worse_ than physic, for a peppermint-drop can take the taste of that\naway in a minute. But not all the peppermint-drops in a chymist's shop\ncould take away the taste of the fillagree-box from Julia. She had\nbeen thinking before of showing all the treasures of her boudoir to\nher little friends next day; but this horrid box was like a great\ncloud closing over her sunshine. She knew she was naughty, but she was\nso in the habit of being selfish she could not conquer her peevish\nvexation. Annette wondered what could be the matter, and her Governess\nsighed as she perceived her face clouded, even when she was repeating\nher evening prayer; but no questioning could extract from her what was\namiss.\n\nOh, what a condition for a child to go to sleep in! Euphrosyne was\ngreatly annoyed. \"They are not correcting her evil dispositions,\"\ncried she. \"I do not allow that this has anything to do _necessarily_\nwith being very rich.\"\n\nAh, good Fairies, you do not know \"How hardly shall they that have\nriches enter into the kingdom of Heaven.\"\n\nLook now at that young face, asleep on a downy pillow, in a bed richly\nhung with crimson drapery, in a room filled with luxuries, glowing\nwith warmth and comfort. You are shocked that the heart within should\nbe disturbed by nasty little envyings, that made the good things she\npossessed of no value to her. 'Tis well; but remember we are all rich\nby comparison. Go to the poor frost-bitten wayside beggar-child, my\nlittle readers; bring him into your comfortable drawing-room, which\nyou sit in every day and think nothing about, and he will fancy he has\ngot into Paradise. It is a luxurious palace to him. Take him to your\nsnug bed and let him sleep there, and it will be to him what a state\napartment in Windsor Castle would be to you. Do not then let you and\nme scold too much at Julia, but let us keep on the watch to drive away\nfrom ourselves the discontented grumbling thoughts that are apt to\nmake us all ungrateful to God. Julia did not sleep well. The fillagree\nbox was a fort of night-mare to her. She dreamt of its growing up into\na great giant, and thumping her on the head, and calling out that she\nought to be ashamed of herself. Do you know, I think this dream was\nowing to her Godmother, Euphrosyne, for she lingered behind the other\nFairies as they vanished, and shook, not waved, her wand over the\nsleeping child, with a very angry face.\n\nIn the morning Julia, like Aurora, awoke in a temporary forgetfulness\nof her troubles. The morning air is so refreshing and sleep does one\nso much good, and the sun shining through the windows looks so gay,\nand all things speak of hope so loudly in a morning, who can be\nsullen? Certainly not little girls full of life and expectation. But\nthe thought of the fillagree box by degrees took possession of her\nmind and rankled there as before. She too had a Governess, and many\nlessons to learn and much to do, and she did them; but neither English\nhistory nor French fairy tales could quite drive away the fillagree\nbox. Indeed it introduced its horrid face before her into the midst of\na multiplication sum, and Mademoiselle thought she was bewitched to\nhave grown so stupid over her arithmetic all at once. She spent a half\nhour over that one sum, and when it was done she was so much tired she\ngave up lessons for the day. Besides, she had to prepare for her\nfriends. She went into her boudoir, opened her cabinets and unfolded\nher treasures of various sorts--oh I can't tell you what beautiful\nthings! besides interesting collections of foreign and English shells,\nand stuffed humming birds, which you and I should be charmed to\npossess. And Julia was in general most happy when she was looking\nover her property, but rather more because she possessed valuable\ncuriosities than because she cared about them, I fear. For my part,\nI wonder very much that the humming birds and shells did not teach\nher to be more humble-minded; for no art or jewellery can imitate or\ncome up to their glorious beauty. Well, she amused herself tolerably\nin spite of the visions of the fillagree box and the queen's hair,\nwhich now and then came between her and her usual feeling of\nself-satisfaction.\n\nPresently her young friends came--several little girls of various\nages, and now nature once more revived in poor Julia. The children\nfelt and expressed such hearty pleasure at the sight of her treasures.\nThere were such joyous exclamations; such bursts of delight; such\nspringing and jumping about, that Julia became infected with the\ngeneral pleasure, and was a happy child herself. Yes! even though the\nfillagree box had been shown off and admired. But what do children in\ngeneral know about the _value_ of things and how much they cost? Ah,\nmuch more just in their judgments than we elders are apt to be, a bird\nof Paradise such as adorned the top of Julia's cabinet, or a peacock's\ntail, such as she had in a drawer, is to their unprejudiced eyes more\ndesirable than the gold of Ophir itself!\n\nSo now you see this triumph of simplicity over art, despoiled the\nfillagree box of all its horrors, for the innocent children admired\nher shells yet more--unsophisticated, and insensible to the long story\nabout the value of the rubies, the maid of honour, and even the\nqueen's hairs.\n\nStill the Fairies felt and saw that it was not Euphrosyne's gift, but\nrather the forgetfulness of it which caused these hours of happiness\nto Julia, and somewhat puzzled as to the result they left the votary\nof riches, not quite without a sensation that little Aglaia's proposal\nof moderate health and enough riches to be \"comfortable without being\npuzzled,\" was about the best thing after all, though not much of a\nFairy gift. And now, my little readers, I am beginning to get rather\ntired of my story, and to feel that you may do so too. I think I am\ngetting rather prosy, so I must try and cut the matter short. Four out\nof the five Fairy gifts were like beauty and riches, worldly\nadvantages. For instance, there was the little girl who was to have\nevery earthly pleasure at her feet--i.e. she was to have every thing\nshe wished for--why she was fifty times worse off than either Aurora\nor Julia, for I will tell you whom she was like. She was like the\nfisherman's wife in Grimm's German popular fairy tales, who had every\nthing she wished, and so at last wished to be king of the sun and\nmoon. I doubt not you remember her well, and how she was in\nconsequence sent back to her mud cottage. I think, therefore, I need\nnot describe the young lady who had _that_ Fairy gift.\n\nThere was another who was to be _loved_ wherever she went; but nothing\nis worth having that is had so easily, and this child got so sick of\nbeing kissed and fondled and loved, that it was the greatest nuisance\nto her possible, for disagreeable people loved her just as much as\nnice ones, and for her part she hated them all alike. It was a very\nsilly Fairy gift.\n\nCome with me then to Ambrosia's God-daughter, whom they visited last,\nand whose Fairy gift the other Fairies were to guess at!\n\nNeither you nor I, my dears, ever heard a fairy-laugh. Doubtless it is\na sweet and musical sound. You can perhaps fancy it? Well then, do\nfancy it, and how it rang in silver peals when our fairy friends, on\nentering the last nursery they had to visit, found Ambrosia's prot\u00e9g\u00e9e\nin a flood of angry tears, stamping her foot on the ground in a\npassion! \"You naughty naughty girl!\" exclaimed the old Nurse, \"you'll\nwake the baby and make your own eyes so red you won't be fit to be\nseen to night by the company!\"\n\n\"I don't care about my eyes being red, tho' I don't want to wake the\npoor baby,\" sobbed the little girl, slightly softening her wrath: \"but\nthe cat has unravelled all the stocking I have been knitting at for so\nmany days, and I had nearly just finished it, and now it's all\nspoilt;\" and she roared with vexation. \"Miss Hermione, if you go on so\nI shall certainly send for your Mamma, and the baby will be quite\npoorly, he will! and we shall know who made him so,\" added Nurse\ntriumphantly. \"I can't make the baby poorly with crying, Nurse, so\nthat's nonsense you know,\" observed Hermione; \"but I didn't mean to\ndisturb him; only my stocking is gone, and I don't know what to do.\"\nAnd here she sobbed afresh.\n\n\"Do! why ain't you going down to the ladies, and can't you be brushing\nyour hair and washing your face and getting ready?\" \"But it isn't\ntime.\" \"Well, but can't you get ready _before_ the time a little? and\nthen, when you're dressed and look so clean and nice and pretty, you\ncan sit in the chair and we can look at you!\" and here the good old\nNurse gave a knowing smile and nodded her head.\n\nHermione caught sight of the comical coaxing glance, and, in spite of\nher misfortune, burst into a fit of laughter. \"Hum, hum, hum! now\nyou'll wake the poor thing by laughing, Miss Hermione. I do wish you'd\nbe quiet:\" and here the Nurse rocked the child on her knee more\nvigorously than ever.\n\n\"Then why don't you tell me what I am to do with my stocking,\" cried\nHermione. \"Oh well, I know what I will do--something quite as quiet as\na mouse. I will wind up my poor worsted.\" Hereupon the little girl\npicked up the puckered remains of her luckless grey stocking which a\nfacetious young cat had spent at least a quarter of an hour in\ningeniously unravelling with his claws. It was a tiresome tedious job\nwe must admit, and required a strong effort of patient perseverance,\nbut Hermione soon became engrossed in its difficulties and a dead\nsilence ensued. At last Nurse who had while rocking the sleeping baby\non her knee, been watching the child's proceedings, suddenly\nexclaimed, \"Well to be sure, Miss Hermione, you have such patience as\nI never before did see.\"\n\n[The Fairies exchanged glances.\n\n\"It is _Patience_, Ambrosia.\"\n\n\"What a hurry you are in!\" was the reply.]\n\n\"No I haven't, Nurse, indeed,\" answered Hermione. \"I had no patience\nat all when I was in a passion with the cat just now.\"\n\n\"Well, I suppose there are two or three sorts of Patiences, Miss,\nthen,\" persisted Nurse, \"for I'm certain you have _some_ sorts. But,\ndear me, its ever so much past six o'clock, and you have to be dressed\nby half-past. Do put away the worsted and get yourself ready, Miss,\nand call Jane to help you.\"\n\nHere the Nurse and Hermione nearly had a scuffle over the worsted.\nHermione declared the cat had spoilt her stocking; and the only\ncomfort left to her now was to roll it comfortably up into a ball.\nNurse on the contrary insisted that it didn't signify a bit what\nbecame of the worsted; she must dress and go down. The dispute ended\nby Hermione running off with the half finished ball and its untidy\nremains, and cramming the whole concern into the pocket of her best\nfrock. \"The people will soon be tired of talking to me,\" muttered she\nto herself, \"and then I can finish my ball quietly in the corner\nbehind Mamma's chair.\"\n\nThe thought of this ingenious plan for her private amusement down\nstairs so tickled Hermione's fancy that she was on the giggle the\nwhole time she was being dressed. \"If Nurse did but know what was in\nthe pocket of my best frock and how fat it is! how she would scold,\nand what a fight we should have.\" And she could hardly refrain from\nloud laughter at the thought. When she had got her frock on she sat\ndown, and laying her arm over the fat pocket asked Jane to touch up\nher curls: and while this operation was going on she began to talk to\nthe nurse.\n\n\"Nurse, should you think it a very nice thing to go to a dinner party\nand sit in chairs all round a large room, where the coloured covers\nare taken away and everything looks very gay, and so tidy, nobody is\nallowed to do anything but smile, and talk, and wear white kid\ngloves?\"\n\n\"Very nice, Miss, it's so like a lady,\" was the Nurse's ready reply.\n\n\"Well then, I don't think it's nice at all, Nurse--I think it's very\nnasty and stupid.\"\n\n\"Dear, Miss Hermione, how you do talk; I hope you won't tell the\nladies so when you get down stairs.\"\n\n\"Oh dear no, that would be rude, and it's wrong to be rude, but to\ntell you the truth I don't know what I shall do when I grow up if I am\nobliged to be so dull as that is, very often.\"\n\n\"Goodness, Miss Hermione, to hear you talk one would think you'd\nbetter be a housemaid at once, instead of a lady with nothing to do.\"\n\n\"Nurse, I should see no objection to be a housemaid at all, only that\nI am learning so many things that wouldn't suit a housemaid; but\nwithout being a housemaid there are many pleasanter things to do than\nto sit in that stupid sort of way. I like the room when all Papa's\nbooks and papers are about, and when he is scribbling away so busy,\nand when Mamma has got her microscope out looking at seaweeds or\ncuriosities. I have a chance then myself. I don't like ladies who say\nnothing but 'Pretty little dear, what a nice colour she has,' just to\nplease Mamma.\"\n\nWhat Nurse in England could be expected to enter into so philosophical\nan investigation of the habits of society?\n\nHermione's did nothing but assure her it was time to be off, and she\nonly hoped she would sit still and talk prettily, and never trouble\nher head whether it was stupid or not.\n\nWhen Hermione got into the drawing room and saw the company seated as\nshe had described to her Nurse, she felt very much disposed to laugh\nagain, but made an effort and composed herself. Still her face was\nbeaming with mirth and fun, and when some ladies said \"What a happy\nlooking little girl,\" they were quite sincere. That sort of face too\nworked wonders, and her Mamma's friends liked her much and talked\npleasantly to her, and she was pleased and happy and quite forgot the\nball of worsted, as well as the ladies' white kid gloves. A young lady\nhowever who had her arm round Hermione's waist and was playing with\nher, suddenly felt the round protuberance in her pocket. \"Ah you\nlittle rogue, what have you here?\" \"Its a secret,\" cried Hermione. \"I\nthink I can unravel your mysterious secret, little girl, you are a\nfavourite with the housekeeper,\" added she, whispering in Hermione's\near, \"and she has just given you an orange.\"\n\n\"You are a very bad guesser of secrets,\" whispered Hermione in\nreturn. \"It's no such thing!\"--\"Then it's an apple.\" \"No, nor an\napple.\"--\"Then it's a peach, and your new frock will be spoilt.\" \"No\nit isn't a peach either, and it's a secret.\" The young lady loved fun,\nand a playful struggle ensued between her and Hermione; in the course\nof which the large grey worsted ball and its long ravelled tail were\ndrawn from the little pocket.\n\nHermione had now to tell the history of the ball, which she did\nnaturally and honestly, but when she added, quite seriously, that she\nintended, when they had done talking to her, to go behind her Mamma's\nchair and finish winding it up, you may guess how they laughed.\n\n\"Come here, my little dear, and let me look at you,\" cried an elderly\nlady in spectacles, putting out her hand and laying hold of\nHermione's. \"Why what an industrious little soul you must be! a\nperfect pattern! There now! you may go behind my chair and finish your\nball of worsted; nobody wants to talk to you any longer.\"\n\nThis old lady was rather crabbed, and had not quite believed Hermione\nsincere, so she did this to try her, and expected to see her pout and\nrefuse. To her surprize, Hermione only said \"Oh thank you, ma'am,\"\nwith a quite smiling face, and going behind the chair, sat down on the\nfloor to her worsted. For a few moments the old lady kept thinking \"It\nwon't last long: she'll soon be glad of an excuse to come out:\" but no\nsuch thing happened; and just what Hermione expected did happen. The\nladies fell to talking among themselves, and in a very short time the\npresence of the little girl was quite forgotten, even by the old lady,\nwho was handed out to dinner, without once remembering whom she had\nleft behind her chair.\n\nHermione stayed in the room till her task was over, and then rushed up\nstairs to the nursery, and stopping at the door, half opened it and\nrolled the great grey worsted ball so cleverly in, that it hit the old\nNurse's foot as she sat (once more rocking the baby) over the fire.\n\"Goodness, bless me! what ever is that?\" Then, spying a laughing face\nat the door, \"Oh dear heart, it's you I declare, Miss Hermione! will\nyou never leave off waking the baby? I thought a great black dog was\nlaying hold of my foot.\"\n\n\"Nurse,\" said Hermione, \"your baby is always and always going to\nsleep; why doesn't he go, and then I could have a bit of fun? You\ndon't know where I finished winding the worsted ball!\"\n\n\"Why goodness me, Miss Hermione, where?\"\n\n\"Down in the drawing-room among all the fine ladies; so good night!\"\nand off she ran to avoid further explanation. A few words with her\nGoverness; a sober time of evening prayer; and the happy child laid\nher head on her pillow, and needed no Fairy wand to lull her to sleep.\nShe had been some time with her Governess in the morning before her\nMamma coming to her there, heard a loud discussion going on within.\nThe voices, however, were those of good-humour. \"Hermione,\" said her\nMother, \"I am come to say that your Governess told me yesterday you\nhad been so very good for a long time over all that you have had to\ndo, that I have arranged for your having a holiday and a treat to-day,\nand several of your young friends are coming to see you. Among them is\nAurora, the granddaughter of the old lady in spectacles, who, just\nbefore she was going away at night, recollected you, and began to look\nfor you behind her chair.\"\n\n\"Oh what a goose, Mamma!\" \"No, not a goose, my dear--only an oddity,\nbut a very kind one too--for she desired me to find out whether you\nreally did roll up the whole of the ravelled worsted last night; and\n_if_ you really persevered till it was finished, I have something to\ngive you from her, but not otherwise. How was it?\" \"Oh, it's finished,\nMamma; ask Nurse; for when I rolled it against her foot last night,\nshe took it for a great black dog.\" \"Well then, I suppose this is\nyours, Hermione; but, I must say, I never knew a gold thimble earned\nso easily.\" Yes, dear little readers, it was a pretty gold thimble,\nand round the bottom of it there was a rim of white enamel, and on the\nenamel were gold letters.\n\n  \"L'industrie ajoute \u00e0 la beaut\u00e9.\"\n\n\"Mamma,\" said Hermione, looking at it in delight, as she found it\nexactly fitted her finger, \"it's lovely; but, do you know, I think the\nold lady ought to have given it to her granddaughter, Aurora, with\nsuch a motto.\" \"My dear, she has had it, she told me, some months in\nher pocket secretly, for the purpose you mention, but she cannot ever\nsatisfy herself that Aurora has got the spirit of real industry in\nher, and to bribe her to _earn_ the thimble is not her object, so you\nsee it has accidentally fallen to your share.\"\n\nAnd as she said this, Hermione's mother turned round to leave the\nroom; but before she had reached the door, her little girl stopped\nher--\"Mamma, do turn back.\"\n\n\"What is the matter, Hermione?\"\n\n\"I've something I want to say to you.\"\n\n\"I am all attention, my dear, particularly as your face looks so\nunusually grave.\"\n\n\"Why, you and my Governess are always calling me _good_ for doing my\nlessons well, and now you are rewarding me for being _good_ and all\nthat, and I don't see that I am good at all.\"\n\n\"Upon my word this is a very serious matter, Hermione; who or what has\nput this into your head?\"\n\n\"I read in a serious book lately, that nobody could be good without\npractising self-denial; and that, to be really good, one must either\ndo something that one does _not_ like, or give up something that one\n_does_; so that I am quite sure I cannot be good and deserve a reward\nwhen I do French and music and drawing and work well, because I am so\nvery fond of doing every thing I do do, that every thing is a pleasure\nto me. And there is no struggle to do what is tiresome and no other\nwish to give up. The only time when I have to try to be good at all,\nis when I have to leave off one thing and go to another. That is\nalways a little disagreeable at first, but unfortunately the\ndisagreeableness goes off in a very few minutes, and I like the new\nemployment as well as the last. This is what I was talking about to my\nGoverness when you came, and she laughed so loud I felt quite vexed.\"\n\n\"My dear Hermione,\" said her Mamma, \"you have quite misapplied what\nyou have read in the book. Self-denial is always required of us, when\nwe feel inclined to do any thing that is wrong, but it does not apply\nto any aptitude you may have for enjoying the occupations I require of\nyou. That is only a piece of good fortune for you; for to many little\ngirls, doing lessons is a very great act of self-denial, as they want\nto be doing something else. But now, as you are so lucky in liking\nevery thing you do, you must practise your self-denial in some other\nway.\"\n\n\"How, Mamma?\"\n\n\"In not being vexed when your Governess laughs, and in not being in a\npassion with the cat next time he unravels your stocking.\"\n\nHermione blushed. \"Oh, Mamma, I understand the difference now.\"\n\n\"But this is not all, Hermione.\"\n\n\"Well, Mamma?\"\n\n\"Why, as you are so fortunate as to be always happy when employed, and\nas therefore there is no _goodness_ strictly speaking, in your doing\nyour business so cheerfully and well, you must do this, you must spend\nsome portion of time every day in making your energy of use to other\npeople, and then you will be doing active good if not practising\nself-denial.\"\n\n\"Oh, Mamma, what a nice idea! Perhaps you will give me some needlework\nto do for the poor women you give money to; and, besides, just now I\ncan do something actively useful and still a little really\ndisagreeable,--really it is, Mamma,--what makes you laugh?\"\n\n\"Your resolution to do something you don't like. What is it,\nHermione?\"\n\n\"To knit up again the stocking the cat pulled out. I quite dislike the\nidea.\"\n\n\"Then set to work by all means, Hermione. You will at least have the\ncomfort of 'beginning by a little aversion;' but I warn you\nbeforehand, not to set your heart upon the disagreeableness lasting\nvery long, and if you find yourself shortly, as happy as ever over the\nstocking, do not be puzzled and vexed any more, but thank God as I do,\nthat, so far at least, you are spared one of the troubles of life. The\ntrouble of an indolent, discontented mind.\"\n\nAn affectionate embrace was exchanged between Mother and Daughter; and\nthe latter, with the assistance of her Governess, recommenced the\nunlucky grey stocking, and was working assiduously at it when her\nyoung friends arrived.\n\nIt was a curious sight to the Fairies to see two of their\ngod-daughters together, as they now did. But the conviction was forced\nupon them, that, for the present at least, Hermione had the balance of\nhappiness in her favour. Whatever their amusements were,--whether\nlooking over curiosities, playing with dolls, or any of the numerous\ngames invented for the entertainment of the young, Hermione's whole\nheart and attention were in the matter, and she was as much engrossed\nas over learning at other times, and quite happy. With poor Aurora it\nwas not so; the childishness of the play every now and then annoyed\nher; there was no food for her vanity, in playing with children; they\ncared nothing about her beauty; the gayest and most good-natured face\nhas always the most charms for them, and this did not suit Aurora at\nall, and ever and anon her thoughts wandered, and her wishes too.\n\nFor ever straining into the future!\n\n\"I cannot make out your Fairy gift at all, Ambrosia,\" said Euphrosyne,\n\"and I begin to suspect you have not given her one.\"\n\n\"We are all growing philosophical, I perceive,\" said Ambrosia,\nsmiling. \"Who could think you would have guessed that my happy child\nhas had no Fairy gift at all. But she has, I assure you. What do you\nsay to the Philosopher's Stone? It is quite clear that me has got\nsomething which TURNS EVERY THING SHE TOUCHES INTO GOLD.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhat _is_ the Philosopher's Stone? I hear my little readers exclaim.\nThere is no such thing, my dears, nor ever was; but the chymists in\nold times, who were very ignorant, and yet knew that many wonderful\nthings had been done by the mixture of minerals and metals, and the\ncurious effects some had upon others, guessed that yet more wonderful\nthings might be found out by searching, and they got into their heads\nthat it might be possible to find, or make, a stone that would have\nthe power of turning every thing it touched into gold. In the same\nmanner, the doctors of those times fancied there might be such a thing\nmade as a draught that would turn old people into young ones again.\nThis was called \"The Elixir of Life.\" But I do assure you these old\nfellows never did discover either a Philosopher's Stone, or an Elixir\nof Life.\n\nSo this was only a joke of Ambrosia's.\n\nNow to go on and finish my story. It was ten years more before the\nFairies revisited their Godchildren in the lower world, and this time\nthey were to decide who had given the best Fairy gift.\n\nAnd I dare say you expect me to give you as long an account of their\nvisits to the young ladies of twenty, as I did of their peeps at the\nlittle girls of ten. But I really do not think it worth while. I would\ndo so indeed in a minute if there were anything quite fresh and new to\ndescribe. But on the faith of a story-teller I assure you, it would be\n\"the old story over again,\" only on an enlarged scale.\n\nDid you ever look at any interesting object first with your natural\neyes, and then through a microscope or magnifying glass? If so, you\nwill remember that through the magnifying glass you saw the same thing\nagain, only much bigger.\n\nIn the same manner the ten years acted as a sort of magnifying glass\nover Aurora, Julia, and Hermione. Everything was the same, but\nincreased in size and made clearer and plainer.\n\nAurora's triumphant joy as she entered the ball-room as a beauty, was\nmuch greater certainly than her pleasure at her Mamma's dinner party.\nBut the weariness and anxiety afterwards were increased also. She was\nstill getting away from our friend Time present, and forecasting into\nsome future delight. \"The good time _coming_, Boys,\" was her, as well\nas many other people's bugbear. She never could feel that (with God's\nblessing) _the good time_ is always _come_.\n\nThe only time she ever thoroughly enjoyed was the moment of being\nexcessively admired. But judge for yourselves how long that can last.\nCould you sit and look at a pretty picture for an hour together? No, I\nknow you could not. You cannot think how short a time it takes to say\n\"Dear me, what a beautiful girl!\" and then, perhaps, up comes somebody\nwho addresses the admiring gazer on the subject of Lord John Russel's\nlast speech, and the \"beautiful girl,\" so all important in her own\neyes, is as entirely forgotten as if she had never been seen. And\nthen, to let you into another secret, Aurora was by no means a very\nentertaining companion: nobody _can_ be, with their heads full of\nthemselves: and she had often the mortification, even in that scene of\nher triumph, a ball-room, of feeing her admirers drop off, to amuse\nthemselves with other people; less handsome perhaps, but more\ninteresting than herself.\n\nAnd so the Fairies, having accompanied her through a day of Triumphs,\nmixed with mortifications, followed by languors, unsettled by hopes of\nfuture joy, clouded with anxieties that all but spoilt those\nhopes:--came one and all to the conclusion that Aurora could not be\nconsidered as a model of human happiness.\n\nNor could they say much more for Julia. Perhaps, indeed, there is more\nequanimity in the pleasures of a very rich person, than in those of a\nvery beautiful one: but, oh dear, they are of such a mean sort! Still,\nthere is a good deal of impertinent comfort in money I do admit. Life\nrolls on, upon such well oiled hinges! The rich say, \"Do this,\" to\npeople around them; and the people, \"do it.\" But the Fairies had no\nsympathy with such an _unnatural_ fault as the pride of wealth. They\nsaw Julia reclining in one of those \"lumbering things\" they so much\ndespised: and driving round the \"dirty town\" they so much disliked:\nand along a park a great deal too smoky for their taste: and they\ncould not understand the haughty glance of self-satisfaction with\nwhich she looked out upon the walking crowds she passed, or the\naffected graciousness with which she smiled upon the few whom she\ncondescended to recognize as acquaintances. They thought her very\nnaughty and very absurd for being conceited about such matters. They\nfollowed her to her Milliner's too, and there I assure you they had\nnearly betrayed their presence by the uncontrollable fits of laughter\nthey fell into when she was trying on, or talking about, bonnets, head\ndresses, gowns, &c. with the affected Frenchwoman who showed them off.\nJulia cared for nothing because it was pretty or tasteful, but chose\nevery thing by its costliness and magnificence. Of course the milliner\nassured her that every thing she took a fancy to from its rarity, was\nbecoming; and then, oh dear! how the Fairies were amused! for poor\nJulia looked downright ugly in some of the things she selected, and\nstill went away as self satisfied as ever, on the old grounds that the\ncostume was so expensive that none of her acquaintance could get one\nlike it. This was still her chief comfort! Euphrosyne actually shook\nher fist at her as she was going away, and she had the toothache for\nthe rest of the day, and was extremely cross to her husband in\nconsequence. For, by the way, Julia had married--and married a\nnobleman--a man somewhat older than herself; but he and she had had a\nsort of mutual conviction that riches and rank go very well together,\nand so they married; and suited very well in this respect, that as\ntheir heads were full of other things they neither claimed nor\nrequired from each other a great amount of affection.\n\nStill, was Julia happy? The Fairies shook their heads. She had\ngardens, hot-houses, magnificent collections of curiosities, treasures\nthat might have softened and opened her heart, if she had made a right\nuse of them. But riches have a very hardening tendency, and she never\nstruggled against it.\n\nThen, too, she could get every thing she wanted so easily, that she\ncared very little about anything. Life becomes very stale when your\nhands are full and you have nothing to ask for.\n\nHer greatest pleasure was to create astonishment and envy among her\nassociates: but, besides the naughtiness of the feeling, this is a\ntriumph of very short duration; for most people, when they cannot get\nat what they envy, amuse themselves with something else; and then,\nwhat a mortification to see them do this!\n\n\"Besides,\" said the Fairies, \"we must follow her into her solitude, to\nsee if she is happy.\"\n\nAh! there, lying back once more in the easy chair, in a dress which--\n\n  \"China's gayest art had dyed,\"\n\ndo you think that self-satisfied, but still uncheerful looking face\ntells of happiness?\n\nNo! She too, like Aurora, was unoccupied, and forecasting into\nfuturity for the \"good time coming,\" which so many spend their lives\nin craving after and expecting, but which the proud, the selfish and\nthe idle never reach to.\n\nThe Fairies turned from her sorrowful and angry.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn the outskirts of a forest, just where its intricacy had broken away\ninto picturesque openings, leaving visible some strange old trees with\nknotted trunks and mysteriously twisted branches, sat a young girl\nsketching. She was intently engaged, but as her eyes were ever and\nanon raised from her paper to the opening glade, and one of the old\ntrees, the Fairies had no difficulty in recognizing their prot\u00e9g\u00e9e,\nHermione. The laughing face of childhood had become sobered and\nrefined by sentiment and strength, but contentment and even enjoyment\nbeamed in her eyes as she thoughtfully and earnestly pursued her\nbeautiful art. The little beings who hovered around her in that sweet\nspot, almost forgot they were not in Fairy land; the air was so full\nof sweet odours from ferns and mosses, and the many other delicious\nscents you find so constantly in woods.\n\nBesides which, it amused the good souls to watch Hermione's skilful\nhand tracing the scene before her; and they felt an admiring delight\nwhen they saw the old tree of the forest reappear on the paper, with\nall the shadows and lights the sun just then threw upon it, and they\nwondered not a little at the skill with which she gave distance and\nperspective to the glade beyond. They felt, too, that though the\ndrawing they saw rising under the sketcher's hand was not made\npowerful by brilliant effects or striking contrasts, it was\nnevertheless overflowing with the truth and sentiment of nature. It\nwas the impression of the scene itself, viewed through the poetry of\nthe artist's mind; and as the delicate creatures who hung over the\npicture, looked at it, they almost longed for it, slight as it was,\nthat they might carry it away, and hang it up in their fairy palace as\na faithful representation of one of the loveliest spots of earth, the\noutskirts of an ancient English forest.\n\nIt is impossible to say how long they might not have staid watching\nHermione, but that after a time the sketch was finished, and the young\nlady after writing beneath it Schiller's well known line in\nWallenstein, arose. \"Das ist das Loos des Sch\u00f6nen auf der Erde.\"[1]\n\n[1] \"Such is the lot of the beautiful upon earth.\"\n\nThe poor tree was marked for felling! Ambrosia was almost affected to\ntears, once more. The scene was so beautiful, and the allusion so\ntouching, and there seemed to her such a charm over her God-daughter\nHermione; she was herself so glad, too, to feel sure that success had\ncrowned her gift, that, altogether, her Fairy heart grew quite soft.\n\"You may do as you like about observing Hermione further,\" cried she.\n\"But, for my part, I am now satisfied. She is enjoying life to the\nuttermost; all its beauties of sight and sound; its outward\nloveliness; its inward mysteries. She will never marry but from love,\nand one whose heart can sympathise with hers. Ah, Ianthe, what more\nhas life to give? You will say, she is not beautiful; perhaps not for\na marble statue; but the grace of poetical feeling is in her every\nlook and action. Ah, she will walk by the side of manhood, turning\neven the hard realities of life into beauty by that living well-spring\nof sweet thoughts and fancies that I see beaming from her eyes. Look\nat her now, Ianthe, and confess that surely that countenance breathes\nmore beauty than chiselled features can give.\" And certainly, whether\nsome mesmeric influence from her enthusiastic Fairy Godmother was\nworking on Hermione's brain, or whether her own quotation upon the\ndoomed tree had stirred up other poetical recollections, I know not;\nbut as she was retracing her steps homewards, she repeated to herself\nsoftly but with much pathos, Coleridge's lines:[2]\n\n      \"O lady, we receive but what we give,\n      And in our life alone does nature live:\n  Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud!\n  And would we aught behold, of higher worth,\n  Than that inanimate cold world allowed\n  To the poor loveless ever anxious crowd,\n  Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth\n  A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud\n      Enveloping the earth--\n  And from the soul itself must there be sent\n  A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,\n  Of all sweet sounds the life and element!\"\n\n[2] Coleridge's \"Dejection: an Ode.\"\n\nAnd, turning through the little handgate at the extremity of the wood,\nshe pursued the train of thought with heightened colour in her\ncheeks--\n\n  \"I may not hope from outward forms to win\n  The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.\"\n\nAnd thus Hermione reached her home, her countenance lighted up by the\npleasure of success, and the sweet and healthy musings of her solitary\nwalk.\n\nShe entered the library of a beautiful country house by the low window\nthat opened on to the lawn, and found her mother reading.\n\n\"I cannot tell you how lovely the day is, Mamma, every thing is so\nfresh, and the shadows and lights are so good! I have immortalized our\npoor old friend the oak, before they cut him down,\" added she,\nsmiling, as she placed the drawing in her mother's hands. \"I wish the\nforest belonged to some one who had not this cruel taste for turning\nknotted oak trees into fancy work-tables. It is as bad as what Charles\nLamb said of the firs, 'which look so romantic alive, and die into\ndesks.'--Die into desks!\" repeated Hermione musingly, as she seated\nherself on the sofa, and took up a book that was before her on the\ntable; mechanically removing her bonnet from her head, and laying it\ndown by her side as she spoke.\n\nAnd here for some time there was a silence, during which Hermione's\nmother ceased reading, and, lifting up her eyes, looked at her\ndaughter with mingled love, admiration, and interest. \"I wish I had\nher picture so,\" dreamt the poor lady, as she gazed; \"so earnest, and\nunderstanding, and yet so simple, and kind!--There is but one\ndifficulty for her in life,\" was the next thought; \"with such keen\nenjoyment of this world, such appreciation of the beauties, and\nwonders, and delights of God's creations on earth--to keep the eye of\nfaith firmly fixed on the 'better and more enduring inheritance,' to\nwhich both she and I, but I trust she, far behind, are hastening. Yet,\nby God's blessing, and with Christian training, and the habit of\nactive charity, and the vicissitudes of life, I have few or no fears.\nBut such capability of happiness in this world is a great temptation,\nand I sometimes fancy must therefore have been a Fairy gift.\" And here\nthe no longer young Mother of Hermione fell into a reverie, and a long\npause ensued, during which Ambrosia felt very sad, for it grieved her\nto think that the good and reasonable Mother should be so much afraid\nof Fairy gifts, even when the result had been so favourable.\n\nA note at length interrupted the prolonged silence. It was from Aurora\nthe Beauty, whose Father possessed a large estate in the\nneighbourhood, and who had just then come into the country for a few\nweeks. Aurora earnestly requested Hermione and her Mother to visit\nher.\n\n\"I will do as you wish,\" said Hermione, looking rather grave; \"but\nreally a visit to Aurora is a sort of small misfortune.\"\n\n\"I hope you are not envious of her beauty, Hermione? Take care.\"\n\n\"Nay, you are cruel, Mamma, now. I should like to be handsome, but not\nat the expense of being so very dull in spirits as poor Aurora often\nis. But really, unless you have ever spent an hour alone with her, you\ncan form no idea of how tired one gets.\"\n\n\"What of, Hermione? of her face?\"\n\n\"Oh no, not of her face; it is charming, and by the way you have just\nput into my head how I may escape from being tired, even if I am left\nalone with her for hours!\"\n\n\"Nay, now you really puzzle me, my dear; I suggested nothing but\nlooking at her face.\"\n\n\"Ah, but as she is really and truly such a model of beauty, what do\nyou think of offering to make a likeness of her, Mamma? It will\ndelight her to sit and be looked at, even by me, in the country, and I\nshall be so much pleased to have such a pleasant occupation. I am\nquite reconciled to the idea of going.\"\n\nAnd a note was written, and despatched accordingly.\n\n\"But,\" persisted Hermione, rising to sit near her Mother, \"you do not\nabove half know Aurora. One would think she had been born in what is\ncalled a 'four warnt way,' with nothing but cross roads about her.\nNothing is ever right. She is always either exhausted with the heat of\nthe sun, or frozen with cold, or the evening is so tedious, she wants\nit to be bedtime, or if there is any unusual gaiety going on, she\nquarrels with the same length of evening, because it is so intolerably\nshort; and, in short, she is never truly happy but when she is\nsurrounded by admirers, whether men or women. And this seems to me to\nbe a sad way of '_getting her time over_,' as the poor women say of\nlife. Ah, Mamma, it goes but too quickly.\"\n\n\"Aurora is indeed foolish,\" musingly ejaculated the Mother.\n\n\"Not altogether either, my dear Mother. She knows much; but the fault\nis, she cares for nothing. She has got the carcase, as it were, of\nknowledge and accomplishments; but the vivifying spirit is wanting.\nYou know yourself how well she plays and sings occasionally, if there\nis a question of charming a room full of company. Yet there can be no\nsentiment about her music after all, or it would be an equal pleasure\nto her at other times. But really it almost makes me as discontented\nwith life as herself to hear her talk in unexcited hours. Turning over\nmy books one day, she said, 'You can never be either a poet or a\npainter, or a Mozart or a philosopher, Hermione? what is the use of\nall your labour and poking?' What could I say? I felt myself colour\nup, and I laughed out, 'Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher, all is\nvanity!' Yet certainly God has set before us the things of earth in\norder that we may admire and find them out; and that is the answer to\nall such foolish questions!\" And Hermione was turning to leave the\nroom, but she came back and said--\"Do you know, Mamma, though you will\nlaugh at the idea, I do think Aurora would be a very nice girl, and\nvery happy, if she either could grow very ugly all at once, or if any\nthing in the world could make her forget her beauty.--And,\" added she,\nin a half whisper, \"if there is any thing in Fairy lore, I could\nalmost fancy some cruel Fairy had owed her family a grudge, and had\ngiven her this gift of excessive beauty on purpose to be the plague\nand misfortune of her life.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Enough, enough, and too much,\" cried Euphrosyne impatiently. \"The\nmatter is now, I think, concluded. Ianthe and I have failed, and\nthough you are successful, Ambrosia, even you have not come off\nwithout a rebuff. Now, farewell to earth. I am weary of it. I do not\nknow your gift, and I am sick of listening to conversations I cannot\nunderstand. Let us begone. If we de delay, they will begin again. Ah,\nmy sisters, my spirit yearns for our fairer clime!\"\n\nAnd they arose; but yet awhile they lingered on the velvet lawn before\nthat country-house, for as they were preparing for flight, the sounds\nthey loved so well, of harmonious music, greeted their ears.\n\n\"Ah, there is the artist's hand again,\" cried Ambrosia. \"I see the\nlovely sketch before me once more!\"\n\nAnd so it was, that it, and the peaceful forest scene, and the\ninteresting face of Hermione, seemed to reappear before them all as\nthey listened to her music. Tender, and full of sentiment were the\nsounds at first, as if the musician were acting the scene of the opera\nwhence they came.\n\n\"Lieder ohne Worte,\"[3] murmured Ambrosia.\n\n[3] Songs without Words.--Mendelssohn.\n\nBut it was to the swelling sounds of a farewell chorus that they arose\ninto the air, and took their leave of earth.\n\nAnd now, dear Readers, there is but one thing more to do. To ask if\nyou have guessed the Fairy gift?\n\nThe Fairies, you see, had not. What Euphrosyne had said was true. They\nhad listened to such a quantity of conversation they could not\nunderstand, and they were so unused to _think_ much about any thing,\nor to hear much beyond their own pretty light talk and sweet songs,\nthat their poor little brains had got quite muddled.\n\nPerhaps remaining so long in the Earth's atmosphere helped to cloud\ntheir intelligence. Certain it is, they returned very pensive, very\ncross, and rather dusty to Fairy Land.\n\nThey arrived at the beautiful bay I first described, and floated to a\nlarge party of their sisters, who were dancing on the sands.\n\nThere was a clapping of tiny hands, and shouts of joy as they\napproached; and \"What news? what news?\" cried many voices.\n\n\"Ah, what news, Sister Euphrosyne!\" cried little Aglaia, floating\nforward, \"from the smudgy old earth; Is it beauty, riches, or what?\"\n\n\"I cannot answer your question,\" said Euphrosyne, pushing forward.\n\nA circle was now formed round the travellers, and the details I have\ngiven you were made by Ianthe. And she wound up by saying, \"And what\nAmbrosia's gift to Hermione has been, we cannot make out.\"\n\n\"Then I will tell you!\" cried little Aglaia, springing lightly high\ninto the air, and descending gently on a huge shell at her feet; \"_She\nlikes every thing she does, and she likes to be always doing\nsomething_. You can't put the meaning into one word, as you can Beauty\nand Riches; but still it _is_ something. Can't you think of some way\nof saying what I have told you? Dear me, how stupid you are all grown.\nAnd _liking_ isn't the right word: it is something stronger than\ncommon _liking_.\"\n\n\"Love, perhaps,\" murmured Leila.\n\n\"An excellent idea,\" cried Euphrosyne; \"dear me, this delicious air is\nclearing my poor head. Sisters, I will express it for you, and\nAmbrosia shall say if I am right. It is THE LOVE OF EMPLOYMENT.\"\n\nAmbrosia laughed assent; but a low murmur of discontent resounded\nthrough the Fairy group.\n\n\"Intolerable!\" cried Leila, shrugging her shoulders like a French\nwoman.\n\n\"It is no Fairy gift at all,\" exclaimed others; \"it is downright\nplodding and working.\"\n\n\"If the human race can be made happy by nothing but labour,\" cried\nanother; \"I propose we leave them to themselves, and give them no more\nFairy gifts at all.\"\n\n\"Remember,\" cried Ambrosia, now coming forward, \"this is our first\nexperiment upon human happiness. Hitherto we have given Fairy gifts,\nand never enquired how they have acted. And I feel sure we have always\nforgotten one thing, viz. that poor men and women living in Time, and\nonly having in their power the small bit of it which is present,\ncannot be happy unless they make Time present happy. And there is but\none plan for that; I use Aglaia's words: '_To like every thing you do,\nand like to be always doing something_.'\"\n\nAmbrosia ceased speaking, and the circled group were silent too. They\nwere not satisfied, however; but those sweet, airy people take nothing\nto heart for long. For a short time they wandered about in little\nknots of two and three, talking, and then joined together in a dance\nand song, ere night surrounded them. There was from that time,\nhowever, a general understanding among them that the human race was\ntoo coarse and common to have much sympathy with Fairies, and even the\nGodmothers agreed to this, for they were sadly tired with the unusual\nquantity of thinking and observing they had had to undergo. So if you\never wonder, dear Readers, that Fairy Gifts and Fairy Godmothers have\ngone out of fashion; you may conclude that the adventure of Ambrosia\nand Hermione is the reason.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe story is ended; and if any enquiring child should say, \"There are\nno more Fairy gifts, and we can no more give ourselves love of\nemployment than beauty or riches;\" let me correct this dangerous\nerror! Wiser heads than mine have shown that every thing we do becomes\nby HABIT, not only _easy_, but actually _agreeable_.[4]\n\n[4] Abercrombie. Moral Feelings.\n\nDear Children! encourage a habit of _attention_ to whatever you\nundertake, and you may make that habit not only easy, but agreeable;\nand then, I will venture to promise you, you will _like_ and even\n_love_ your occupations. And thus, though you may not have so many\ntalents as Hermione, you may call all those you do possess, into play,\nand make them the solace, pleasure and resources of your earthly\ncareer.\n\nIf you do this, I think you will not feel disposed to quarrel, as the\nFairies did, with Ambrosia's gift; for increased knowledge of the\nworld, and your own happy experience, will convince you more and more\nthat no Fairy Gift is so well worth having, as,\n\nTHE LOVE OF EMPLOYMENT.\n\n\n\n\nJOACHIM THE MIMIC.\n\n\nThere was, once upon a time, a little boy, who, living in the time\nwhen Genies and Fairies used now and then to appear, had all the\nadvantage of occasionally seeing wonderful sights, and all the\n_dis_advantage of being occasionally dreadfully frightened. This\nlittle boy was one day walking alone by the sea side, for he lived in\na fishing town, and as he was watching the tide, he perceived a bottle\ndriven ashore by one of the big waves. He rushed forward to catch it\nbefore the wave sucked it back again, and succeeded. Now then he was\nquite delighted, but he could not get the cork out, for it was\nfastened down with rosin, and there was a seal on the top. So being\nvery impatient, he took a stone and knocked the neck of the bottle\noff.\n\nWhat was his surprize to find himself instantly suffocated with a\nsmoke that made his eyes smart and his nose sneeze, just as much as if\na quantity of Scotch snuff had been thrown over him! He jumped about\nand puffed a good deal, and was just beginning to cry, as a matter of\ncourse for a little boy when he is annoyed; when lo! and behold! he\nsaw before him such an immense Genie, with black eyes and a long\nbeard, that he forgot all about crying and began to shake with fear.\n\nThe Genie told him he need not be afraid, and desired him not to\nshake; for, said he, \"You have been of great use to me; a Genie,\nstronger than myself, had fastened me up in yonder bottle in a fit of\nill humour, and as he had put his seal at the top, nobody could draw\nthe cork. Luckily for me, you broke the neck of the bottle, and I am\nfree. Tell me therefore, good little boy, what shall I do for you to\nshow my gratitude?\"\n\nBut now, before I go on with this, I must tell you that the day before\nthe little boy's adventure with the bottle and the Genie, the King of\nthat country had come to the fishing town I spoke of, in a gold\nchariot drawn by twelve beautiful jet black horses, and attended by a\nlarge train of officers and followers. A herald went before announcing\nthat the King was visiting the towns of his dominions, for the sole\npurpose of doing justice and exercising acts of charity and kindness.\nAnd all people in trouble and distress were invited to come and lay\ntheir complaints before him. And accordingly they did so, and the good\nKing, though quite a youth, devoted the whole day to the benevolent\npurpose he proposed; and it is impossible to describe the amount of\ngood he accomplished in that short time. Among others who benefited\nwas our little boy's Mother, a widow who had been much injured and\noppressed. He redressed her grievances, and in addition to this,\nbestowed valuable and useful presents upon her. \"Look what an example\nthe young King sets,\" was the cry on every side! \"Oh, my son, imitate\nhim!\" exclaimed our poor Widow, as in a transport of joy and emotion,\nshe threw her arms around her boy's neck. \"I wish I _could_ imitate\nhim and be like him!\" murmured little Joachim: (such was the child's\nname). \"My boy,\" cried the Widow, \"imitate every thing that is good,\nand noble, and virtuous, and you _will_ be like him!\" Joachim looked\nearnestly in her face, but was silent. He understood a good deal that\nhis Mother meant; he knew he was to try to do every thing that was\ngood, and so be like the young King; but, as he was but a little boy,\nI am not quite sure that he had not got a sort of vague notion of the\ngold chariot and the twelve jet black horses, mixed up with his idea\nof imitating all that was good and noble and virtuous, and being like\nthe young King. I may be wrong; but, at seven years old, you will\nexcuse him if his head did get a little confused, and if he could not\nquite separate his ideas of excessive virtue and goodness from all the\nsplendour in which the pattern he was to imitate appeared before his\neyes.\n\nHowever that may be, his Mother's words made a profound impression\nupon him. He thought of nothing else, and if he had been in the silly\nhabit of telling his dreams, I dare say he would have told his mother\nnext morning that he had been dreaming of them. Certainly they came\ninto his head the first thing in the morning; and they were still in\nhis head when he walked along by the sea-shore, as has been described;\nso much so, that even his adventure did not make him forget them; and\ntherefore, when this Genie, as I told you before, offered to do any\nthing he wanted, little Joachim said, \"Genie, I want to imitate every\nthing that is good, and noble, and virtuous, so you must make me\nable!\"\n\nThe Genie looked very much surprized, and rather confused; he expected\nto have been asked for toys, or money, or a new horse, or something\nnice of that sort; but Joachim looked very grave, so the Genie saw he\nwas in earnest, and he did a most wonderful thing for a Genie; he\nactually sat down beside the little boy to talk to him. I don't\nrecollect that a single Genie in the Arabian Nights, ever did such a\nthing before; but this Genie did: What is more, he stroked his beard,\nand spoke very softly, as follows:\n\n\"My dear little boy, you have asked a great thing. I can do part of\nwhat you wish, but not all; for you have asked what concerns the heart\nand conscience, and we Genies, cannot influence these, for the great\nRuler of all things alone has them under his control. He allows us,\nhowever, power over the intellect--ah! now I see you cannot understand\nme, little boy!--Well! I mean this;--I can make your head clever, but\nI cannot make your heart good: I can give you the power of imitation,\nbut as to _what_ you imitate, that must depend upon yourself, and the\ngreat Being I dare not name!\"\n\nAfter saying this, the Genie laid his immense forefingers on each side\nof Joachim's head just above his forehead, and then disappeared.\n\nJoachim felt no pain, but when he got up and put on his cap to go\nhome, his head seemed almost too large for it.\n\nPerhaps he wanted a new cap, but the phrenologists would tell you he\nhad got the organ of Imitation.\n\nHe did not thoroughly understand what the Genie said, but he was\nconvinced that something had been done towards making him like to the\nyoung King. As he was dawdling home, his eye was struck by the sight\nof a beautiful because picturesque dark fishing-boat, which he saw\nvery plainly, because the red sun was setting behind it. Joachim felt\na strange wish to make something like it; and, taking up a bit of\nwhite chalk he saw at his feet, he drew a picture of the boat on the\ntarred side of another that was near him. While he was so engaged, an\nold fisherman came up very angrily. He thought the child was\ndisfiguring his boat; but, to his surprise, he saw that the little\nfellow's drawing was so capital, he wished he could do as much\nhimself.\n\n\"Why, who taught you to do that, young Master?\" said he.\n\nJoachim was no great talker at any time, and he now merely said,\n\"Nobody,\" and smiled.\n\n\"Well, you must draw my boat some day, for me to hang up; and now\nhere's a luck penny for you, for you certainly are a capital hand for\nsuch a youngster.\"\n\nJoachim was greatly pleased with the penny, for it was a curious old\none, with a hole through it; and he told his Mother all about it; but\nthough it may seem strange, he never mentioned the bottle and the\nGenie to her at all. That appeared to him to be a quite private affair\nof his own.\n\nHe altered very much, however, by degrees. He had been till then\nrather a dull, silent boy: now he talked much more, was more amusing,\nwas always endeavouring to draw, and after being at church would try\nto read the prayers like the parson. His Mother was delighted. She\nbegan to think her son would grow up a good scholar after all, and\nbeing now well off, owing to the King's kindness, she resolved on\nsending little Joachim to school.\n\nTo school, accordingly, he went; and here, my little readers, there\nwas a great change for him. Hitherto he had lived very much alone with\nhis Mother, and being quiet, and somewhat dull by nature, he had never\ntill quite lately had many acquaintances of his own age.\n\nNow, however, he found himself among great numbers of youths, of all\nages, and all characters. At first he was shy and observant, but this\nsoon wore off, and he became a favourite. Nobody was more liked at any\ntime, and he was completely unrivalled in the play-ground. He could\nset all the boys in a roar of laughter, when, hid behind a bush, he\nwould bark so like a dog that the unhappy wights who were not in the\nsecret expected to see a vicious hound spring out upon them, and took\nto their heels in fright. He was first in every attempt at acting,\nwhich the boys got up; and there was not a cat nor a pig in the\nneighbourhood whose mew and squeak he could not give with the utmost\nexactness. If you ask how he got on at lessons, I must say--well, but\nnot _very_ well. His powers of entertaining his companions were so\ngreat, that I fear he found their easily-acquired praise more tempting\nthan the rewards of laborious learning. He could learn easily enough,\nit is true; but while his steadier neighbours were working hard, he\nwas devising some new scheme for fun when lessons should be over, or\nmaking some odd drawing on his slate to induce his companions to an\noutburst of laughter.\n\nThere were many excuses to be made for little Joachim; and it is\nalways so pleasant to please, that I do not much wonder at his being\nled astray by possessing the power.\n\nTime went on, meanwhile; and Joachim became aware at last that he\npossessed a larger share than common of the power of imitation. When\nhe first clearly felt this, he thought of the Genie and his two\nforefingers, I believe;--but his school life, and his funny ways, and\nthe constant diversion of his mind, quite prevented his thinking of\nall the serious things the Genie had spoken. Nay, even his Mother's\nwords had nearly faded from his mind, and he had forgotten the young\nKing, and his own wishes to be like him. It was a pity it was so; but\nso it was! Poor Joachim! he was a very good fellow, and kind also in\nreality; but first the pleasure of making his companions laugh, and\nthen the pleasure of being a sort of little great man among them, were\nfast misleading him. For instance, though at first he amused them by\nimitating dogs, and cats, and pigs, he next tried his powers at\nimitating any thing queer and odd in the boys themselves, and, for a\ntime, this was most entertaining. When he mimicked the awkward walk of\none boy, and the bad drawl of another, and the loutish carriage of a\nthird, the school resounded with shouts of laughter, which seemed to\nour Hero a great triumph,--something like the cheers which had greeted\nthe good young King as he left the fishing-town. But certainly the\ncause was a very different one! By degrees, however, it must be\nadmitted, that Joachim's popularity began a little to decrease; for,\nthough a boy has no objection to see his neighbour laughed at, he does\nnot like quite so well to be laughed at himself, and there are very\nfew who can bear it with good humour. And now Joachim had given such\nway to the pastime, that he was always hunting up absurdities in his\nfriends and neighbours, and _no one felt safe_.\n\nIt was a long time before Joachim found out the change that was taking\nplace, for there were still plenty of loud laughers on his side; but\nonce or twice he had a feeling that all was not right: for instance,\none day when he mimicked the awkward walker to the boy who spoke badly\nand stuttered, and then in the afternoon imitated the stutterer to the\nawkward boy, he had a twinge of conscience, for it whispered to him\nthat he was a sneak, and deceitful; particularly, as both these boys\nhad often helped him in doing his sums and lessons when he was too\nidle and _too funny_ to labour at them himself. In fact, he had been\nso much helped that he was sadly behind hand in his books, for all the\nschool had been willing to assist \"that good fellow '_Joke him_,'\" as\nthey called him.\n\nAt last a crisis came. A new boy arrived at the school; very big for\nhis age, and rather surly tempered, but a hard working, persevering\nlad, who was striving hard to learn and get on. He had one defect. He\nlisped very much, which certainly is an ugly trick, and sounded silly\nin a great stout boy, nearly five feet high: but he had this excuse;\n--his mother had died when he was very little, and his good Father had\nmore important business on hand in supporting his family, of which\nthis boy was the eldest, than in teaching him to pronounce his S's\nbetter. It is perhaps only Mothers who attend to these little matters.\nWell;--this great big boy was two or three days at the school before\nJoachim went near him. There was something serious, stern, and unfunny\nin his face, and when Joachim was making the other boys laugh, the\ngreat big boy never even smiled, but fixed his eyes in a rather\nunpleasant manner upon Joachim as he raised them from his books. Still\nhe was an irresistible subject for the Mimic; for, though he learnt\nhis lessons without a mistake, and always obtained the Master's\npraise, he read them with so strong a lisp, and this was rendered so\nremarkable by his loud, deep voice, that it fairly upset what little\nprudence Joachim possessed; and, as he returned one day to his seat,\nafter repeating a copy of verses in the manner I have described,\nJoachim, who was not far off, echoed the last two lines with such\naccuracy of imitation, that it startled even the Master, who was at\nthat moment leaving the school-room.\n\nBut no laugh followed as usual, for all eyes were suddenly turned on\nthe big boy, who, crimson with indignation, and yet quite\nself-possessed in manner, walked up to Joachim and deliberately\nknocked him down on the floor. Great was Joachim's amazement, you may\nbe sure, and severe was the blow that had levelled him; but still more\nsevere were the words that followed. \"Young rascal,\" exclaimed the big\nboy, \"who has put _you_ in authority over your elders, that you are to\nbe correcting our faults and failings, instead of attending to your\nown. You are beholden to any lad in the school who will do your sums,\nand write your exercises for you, and then you take upon yourself to\nridicule us if we cannot pronounce our well learnt lessons to your\nfancy! You saucy imp, who don't know what labour and good conduct are,\nand who have nothing to boast of, but the powers which a monkey\npossesses to a greater extent than yourself!\" Fancy Joachim's rage!\n_He_, the admired wit! the popular boy! nothing better than a monkey!\nHe sprang up and struck his fist into the face of his antagonist with\nsuch fury, that the big boy, though evidently unwilling to fight one\nless than himself, was obliged to bestow several sharp blows before he\ncould rid himself of Joachim's passion.\n\nAt last, however, other boys separated them; but Joachim, who was\nquite unused to fighting, and who had received a very severe shock\nwhen he first fell, became so sick and ill that he was obliged to go\nhome. His Mother asked what was the matter. \"He had been quizzing a\ngreat big boy who lisped, and the boy knocked him down, and they had\nfought.\" His Mother sighed; but she saw he was too poorly for talking,\nso she put him to bed and nursed him carefully.\n\nNow, you may say, what had this Mother been about, not to have found\nout and corrected Joachim's fault before? First, he was very little at\nhome, and as owing to the help of others, his idleness had not become\nnotorious, she had heard no complaints from the Masters, and thinking\nhe did his lessons well, she felt averse to stopping his fun and\namusements in holiday hours. Still, she had latterly begun to have\nmisgivings which this event confirmed. In a few days Joachim was\nbetter, and came down stairs, and his Aunt and two or three Cousins\ncalled to enquire after him. Their presence revived Joachim's flagging\nspirits, and all the boys got together to talk and laugh. Soon their\nvoices echoed through the house. Joachim was at his old tricks again,\nand the Schoolboys, the Ushers and the Master all furnished food for\nmirth. His Cousins roared with delight. \"Clever child!\" exclaimed his\nAunt, \"what a treasure you are in a house! one could never be dull\nwhere _you_ are!\" \"Sister, Sister!\" cried Joachim's Mother, \"do not\nsay so!\" \"My dear,\" said the Aunt, \"are you dull enough to be unable\nto appreciate your own child's wit; oh, I wish you would give him to\nme. Come here, my dear Joachim, and do the boy that walks so badly\nonce more for me; it's enough to kill one to see you take him off!\"\nJoachim's spirits rose above all control. Excited by his Aunt's\npraise and the sense of superior ability, he surpassed himself. He\ngave the bad walker to perfection; then imitated a lad who had\ncommenced singing lessons, and whose voice was at present broken and\nbad. He even gave the big boy's lisp once more, and followed on with a\nseries of pantomimic exhibitions.\n\nAll at once, he cast his eyes on his Mother's face--that face so full\nof intelligence and the mild sorrow of years of widowhood, borne with\nresigned patience. Her eyes were full of tears, and there was not a\nsmile on her countenance. Joachim's conscience--he knew not\nwhy--twinged him terribly. He stopped suddenly; \"Mother!\"\n\n\"Come here, Joachim!\" He came.\n\n\"Is that boy whom you have been imitating--your Aunt says so\ncleverly--the _best_ walker of all the boys in your school?\"\n\n\"The _best_, Mother?\" and the puzzled Joachim could not suppress a\nsmile. His Cousins grinned.\n\n\"Dear Mother, of course not,\" continued Joachim, \"on the contrary, he\nis the very worst!\"\n\n\"Oh--well, have you no _good_ walkers at your school?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, several; indeed one especially; his father was a soldier, he\nwalks beautifully.\"\n\n\"Does he, Joachim? Let me see you walk like him, my dear.\"\n\nJoachim stepped boldly enough into the middle of the room, and drew\nhimself up; but a sudden consciousness of his extreme inferiority to\nthe soldier's son, both in figure, manner and mode of walking, made\nhim feel quite sheepish. There was a pause of expectation.\n\n\"Now then!\" said Joachim's Mother.\n\n\"I cannot walk like _him_, Mother,\" said Joachim.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because he walks so _very well_!\"\n\n\"Oh,\"--said Joachim's Mother.\n\nThere was another pause.\n\n\"Come, Joachim,\" continued the Widow, \"I am very anxious to admire you\nas much as your Aunt does. You are not tired; let us have some more\nexhibitions. You gave us a song just now horribly out of tune, and\nwith the screeching voice of a bagpipe.\"\n\n\"I was singing like Tom Smith,\" interrupted Joachim.\n\n\"Is he your best singer?\" enquired the Mother. Another laugh followed.\n\n\"Nay, Mother, no one sings so badly.\"\n\n\"Indeed! How does the Singing Master sing, Joachim?\"\n\n\"Oh, Mother,\" cried Joachim, \"so beautifully, it would make the tears\ncome into your eyes with pleasure, to listen to him.\"\n\n\"Well, but as I cannot listen to him, let me, at all events, have the\npleasure of hearing my clever son imitate him,\" was the reply.\n\nJoachim was mute. He had a voice, though not a remarkable one, but he\nhad shirked the labour of trying to improve it by practice. He made\none effort to sing like the Master, but overpowered by a sense of\nincapacity, his voice failed, and he felt disposed to cry.\n\n\"Why, Joachim, I thought you were such a clever creature you could\nimitate any thing,\" cried the Mother.\n\nNo answer fell from the abashed boy, till a sudden thought revived\nhim.\n\n\"But I _can_ imitate the singing-master, Mother.\"\n\n\"Let me hear you, my dear child.\"\n\n\"Why it isn't exactly what you can hear,\" observed Joachim\nmurmuringly; \"but when he sings, you have no idea what horrible faces\nhe makes. Nay, it's true, indeed, he turns up his eyes, shuts them,\ndistorts his mouth, and swings about on the stool like the pendulum of\na clock!\"\n\nAnd Joachim performed all the grimaces and contortions to perfection,\ntill his Aunt and Cousins were convulsed with laughter.\n\n\"Well done,\" cried his Mother. \"Now you are indeed like the cat in the\nGerman fable, Joachim! who voted himself like the bear, because he\ncould lick his paws after the same fashion, though he could not\nimitate either his courage or his strength. Now let me look a little\nfurther into your education. Bring me your drawing-book.\" It came, and\nthere was page after page of odd and ugly faces, strange noses,\nstranger eyes, squinting out of the book in hideous array.\n\n\"I suppose you will laugh again if I ask you if these are the\n_beauties_ of your school, Joachim;--but tell me seriously, are there\nno good, pleasant, or handsome faces among your schoolfellows?\"\n\n\"Plenty, Mother; one or two the Master calls models, and who often sit\nto him to be drawn from.\"\n\n\"Draw one of those faces for me, my dear; I am fond of beauty.\" And\nthe Mother placed the book in his hands, pointing to a blank page.\n\nJoachim took a pencil, and sat down. _Now_ he thought he should be\nable to please his Mother; but, alas, he found to his surprise, that\nthe fine faces he tried to recall had not left that vivid impression\non his brain which enabled him to represent them. On the contrary, he\nwas tormented and baffled by visions of the odd forms and grotesque\ncountenances he had so often pictured. He seized the Indian-rubber and\nrubbed out nose after nose to no purpose, for he never could replace\nthem with a better. Drawing was his favourite amusement; and this\ndisappointment, where he expected success, broke down his already\ndepressed heart. He threw the book from him, and burst into a flood of\ntears.\n\n\"Joachim! have you drawn him? What makes you cry?\"\n\n\"I cannot draw him, Mother,\" sobbed the distressed boy.\n\n\"And why not? Just look here; here is an admirable likeness of\nsquinting Joe, as you have named him. Why cannot you draw the handsome\nboy?\"\n\n\"Because his face is so handsome!\" answered Joachim, still sobbing.\n\n\"My son,\" said his Mother gravely, \"you have now a sad lesson to\nlearn, but a necessary and a wholesome one. Get up, desist from\ncrying, and listen to me.\"\n\nPoor Joachim, who loved his mother dearly, obeyed.\n\n\"Joachim! your Aunt, and your Cousins, and your schoolfellows have all\ncalled you clever. In what does your cleverness consist? I will tell\nyou. In the Reproduction of Deformity, Defects, Failings, and\nMisfortunes of every sort, that fall under your observation. A worthy\nemployment truly! A noble ambition! But I will now tell you the truth\nabout yourself. You never heard it before, and I feel sure you will\nbenefit now. A good or an evil Genie, I know not which, has bestowed\nupon you a great power; and you have misused it. Do you know what that\npower is?\"\n\nJoachim shook his head, though he trembled all over, for he felt as if\nawaking from along dream, to the recollection of the Genie.\n\n\"It is the power of Imitation, Joachim; I call it a great power, for\nit is essential to many great and useful things. It is essential to\nthe orator, the linguist, the artist, and the musician. Nature herself\nteaches us the charm of _imitation_, when in the smooth and clear lake\nyou see the lovely landscape around mirrored and _repeated_.[5] What a\nlesson may we not read in this sight! The commonest pond even that\nreflects the foliage of the tree that hangs over it, is calling out to\nus to reproduce for the solace and ornament of life, the beautiful\nworks of God. But oh, my son, my dear son, you have abused this gift\nof Imitation, which might be such a blessing and pleasure to you.\"\n\n[5] Schiller.--\"Der K\u00fcnstler.\"\n\n\"You might, if you chose, _imitate every thing that is good, and\nnoble, and virtuous, and beautiful_; and you are, instead of that,\nreproducing every aspect of deformity that crosses your path, until\nyour brain is so stamped with images of defects, ugliness, and\nuncouthness, that your hand and head refuse their office, when I call\nupon you to reproduce the beauties with which the world is graced.\"\n\nI doubt if Joachim heard the latter part of his Mother's speech. At\nthe recurrence to the old sentence, a gleam of lightning seemed to\nshoot across his brain. Latent memories were aroused as keenly as if\nthe events had but just occurred, and he sank at his Mother's feet.\n\nWhen she ceased to speak, he arose.\n\n\"Mother,\" said he, \"I have been living in a cloud. I have been very\nwrong. Besides which, I have a secret to tell you. Nay, my Aunt may\nhear. It has been a secret, and then it has been forgotten; but now I\nremember all, and understand far more than I once did.\"\n\nHere Joachim recounted to his Mother the whole story of her words to\nhim, and his adventure with the Genie and the bottle; and then, very\nslowly, and interrupted by many tears of repentance, he repeated what\nthe Genie had said about giving him _the power_ of imitation, adding\nthat the use he made of it must depend on himself and the great Ruler\nof the heart and conscience.\n\nThere was a great fuss among the Cousins at the notion of Joachim\nhaving talked to a Genie; and, to tell you the truth, this was all\nthey thought about, and soon after took their leave. The heart of\nJoachim's Mother was at rest, however: for though she knew how hard\nher son would find it to alter what had become a habit of life, she\nknew that he was a good and pious boy, and she saw that he was fully\nalive to his error.\n\n\"Oh Mother,\" said he, during the course of that evening, \"how plain I\nsee it all now! The boy that stutters is a model of obedience and\ntenderness; I ought to have dwelt upon and imitated that, and, oh! I\nthought only of his stuttering. The boy that walks so clumsily, as\nwell as the great fellow that lisps, are such industrious lads, and so\nadvanced in learning, that the master thinks both will be\ndistinguished hereafter; and I, who--(oh, my poor mother, I must\nconfess to you)--hated to labour at any thing, and have got the boys\nto do my lessons for me;--I, instead of imitating their industry, lost\nall my time in ridiculing their defects.--What shall--what shall I\ndo!\"\n\nThe next morning poor Joachim said his prayers more humbly than he had\never before done in his life; and, kissing his mother, went to school.\nThe first thing he did on arriving was to go up to the big boy, who\nhad beaten him, and beg him to shake hands.\n\nThe big boy was pleased, and a grim smile lightened up his face. \"But,\nold fellow,\" said he, laying his hand on Joachim's shoulder, \"take a\nfriend's advice. There is good in all of us, depend upon it. Look out\nfor all that's good, and let the bad points take care of themselves.\n_You_ won't get any handsomer, by squinting like poor Joe; nor speak\nany pleasanter for lisping like me; nor walk any better for apeing\nhobbling. But the ugliest of us have some good about us. Look out for\n_that_, my little lad; I do, or I should not be talking to you! I see\nthat you are honest and forgiving, though you _are_ a monkey! There\nnow, I must go on with my lessons! You do yours!\"\n\nNever was better advice given, and Joachim took it well, and bore it\nbravely; but, oh, how hard it was to his mind, accustomed for so long\nto wander away and seek amusement at wrong times, to settle down\nresolutely and laboriously to study. He made a strong effort, however;\nand though he had often to recall his thoughts, he in a measure\nsucceeded.\n\nAfter school-hours he begged the big boy to come and sit by him, and\nthen he requested his old friends and companions to listen to a story\nhe had to tell them. They expected something funny, and many a broad\ngrin was seen; but poor Joachim's eyes were yet red with weeping, and\nhis gay voice was so subdued, the party soon became grave and\nwondering, and then Joachim told them every thing. They were delighted\nto hear about the Genie, and were also pleased to find themselves safe\nfrom Joachim's ridicule. It could not be expected they should all\nunderstand the story, but the big boy did, and became Joachim's\ngreatest friend and adviser.\n\nThat evening our little friend, exhausted with the efforts and\nexcitement of his almost first day of repentance, strolled out in a\nsomewhat pensive mood to his favourite haunt, the sea shore. A stormy\nsunset greeted his arrival on the beach, but the tide was ebbing, and\nhe wandered on till he reached some caverns among the cliffs. And\nthere, as had often been his wont, he sat down to gaze out upon the\nwaste of waters safe and protected from harm. It is very probable that\nhe fell asleep--but the point could never be clearly known, for he\nalways said it was no sleep and no dream he had then, but that, whilst\nsitting in the inmost recesses of the cave, he saw once more his old\nfriend the Genie, who after reproaching him with the bad use he had\nmade of his precious gift, gave him a world of good advice and\ninstruction.\n\nThere is no doubt that after that time, Joachim was seen daily\nstruggling against his bad habits; and that by degrees he became able\nto exercise his mind in following after the good and beautiful instead\nof after the bad and ugly. It was a hard task to him for many a long\nday to fix his flighty thoughts down to the business in hand, and to\ndismiss from before his eyes the ridiculous images that often\npresented themselves. But his Mother's wishes, or the Genie's advice,\nor something better still, prevailed. And you cannot think, of what\nwonderful use the Genie's gift was to him then. Once turned in a right\ndirection and towards worthy objects, he found it like a sort of\nfriend at his right hand, helping him forward in some of the most\ninteresting pursuits of life. Ah! all the energy he had once bestowed\non imitating lisps and stuttering, was now engaged in catching the\nsounds of foreign tongues, and thus taking one step towards the\ncitizenship of the world. And instead of wasting time in gazing at the\nsinging master's face, that he might ape its unnatural distortions--it\nwas now the sweet tones of skilful harmony to which he bent his\nattention, and which he strove, and not in vain, to reproduce.\n\nThe portfolio which he brought home to his Mother at the end of\nanother half-year, was crowded with laborious and careful copies from\nthe best models of beauty and grace. And not with those only, for many\na face could be found on its pages in which the Mother recognized some\nof her son's old companions. Portraits, not of the mere formation of\nmouths and noses, which in so many cases, viewed merely as forms, are\ndefective and unattractive, but portraits of the same faces, upon\nwhich the character of the inward mind and heart was so stamped that\nit threw the mere shape of the features far into the background.\n\nThus with the pursuit of his favourite art, Joachim combined \"that\nmost excellent gift of charity;\" for it was now his pride and pleasure\nto make the charm of expression from \"_the good points_\" his old\nfriend had talked about, triumph over any physical defects. The very\nspirit and soul of the best sort of portrait painting. And here, my\ndear young readers, I would fain call your attention to the fact of\nhow one right habit produces another. The more Joachim laboured over\nseizing the good expression of the faces he drew from, the more he was\nled to seek after and find out the good points themselves whence the\nexpression arose; and thus at last it became a _Habit_ with him to try\nand discover every thing that was excellent and commendable in the\ncharacters of those he met; a very different plan from that pursued by\nmany of us, who in our intercourse with each other, are but too apt to\nfasten with eagle-eye accuracy on failings and faults. Which is a very\ngrave error, and a very misleading one, for if it does nothing else,\nit deprives us of all the good we should get by a daily habit of\ncontemplating what is worthy our regard and remembrance. And so\nstrongly did Joachim's mother feel this, and so earnestly did she wish\nher son to understand that a power which seems bestowed for worldly\nends, may be turned to spiritual advantage also, that when his\nbirthday came round she presented to him among other gifts, a little\nbook, called \"The Imitation of Jesus Christ.\" It was the work of an\nold fellow called Thomas \u00e0 Kempis, and though more practical books of\npiety have since been written, the idea contained in the title\nsuggests a great lesson, and held up before Joachim's eyes, Him whom\none of our own divines has since called \"The Great Exemplar.\"\n\nThis part of our little hero's 'Lesson of Life,' we can all take to\nourselves, and go and do likewise. And so I hope his story may be\nprofitable, though we have not all of us a large Genie-gift of\nImitation as he had. With him the excess of this power took a very\nnatural turn, for though he possessed through its aid, considerable\nfacilities for music and the study of languages also, the course of\nevents led him irresistibly to what is usually called \"the fine arts.\"\nAnd if the old dream of the royal chariot and the twelve jet black\nhorses was never realized to him, a higher happiness by far was his,\nwhen some years after, he and his Mother stood in the council house of\nhis native town; she looking up with affectionate pride while he\nshowed her a portrait of the good young King which had a few hours\nbefore been hung up upon its walls. It was the work of Joachim\nhimself.\n\n\n\n\nDARKNESS AND LIGHT.\n\n_The darkness and the light to Thee are both alike_.\n\n\nFar away to the west, on the borders of the Sea, there lived a lady\nand gentleman in a beautiful old house built something like a castle.\nThey had several children, nice little boys and girls, who were far\nfonder of their Sea Castle, as they called it, than of a very pleasant\nhouse which they had in a great town at some distance off. Still they\nused to go and be very merry in the Town House in the winter time when\nthe hail and snow fell, and the winds blew so cold that nobody could\nbear to walk out by the wild sea shore.\n\nBut in summer weather the case was quite altered. Indeed, as soon as\never the sun began to get a little power, and to warm the panes of\nglass in the nursery windows of the Town House, there was a hue and\ncry among all the children to be off to their Sea Castle home, and\nmany a time had Papa and Mamma to send them angrily out of the room,\nbecause they would do nothing but beg to \"set off directly.\" They were\nalways \"sure that the weather was getting quite hot,\" and \"it _must_\nbe summer, for they heard the sparrows chirping every morning the\nfirst thing,\" and they \"thought they had seen a swallow,\" and \"the\nwindows got so warm with the sunshine, Nurse declared they were enough\nto burn one's fingers:\" and so the poor little things teazed\nthemselves and everybody else, every year, in their hurry to get back\nto their western home. But I dare say you have heard the old proverb,\n\"One swallow does not make a summer;\" and so it was proved very often\nto our friends. For the Spring season is so changeable, there are\noften some soft mild days, and then a cruel frost comes again, and\nperhaps snow as well; and people who have boasted about fine weather\nand put off their winter clothes, look very foolish.\n\nStill Time passes on; and when May was half over, the Town House used\nto echo with shouts of noisy delight, and boxes were banged down in\nthe passages, and there was a great calling out for cords, and much\nscolding about broken keys and padlocks, and the poor Carpenter who\ncame to mend the trunks and find new keys to old locks, was at his\nwits' end and his patience' end too.\n\nBut at last the time came when all this bustle was succeeded by\nsilence in the Town House, for carriages had rolled away with the\nhappy party, and nobody was left behind but two or three women\nservants to clean out the deserted rooms.\n\nAnd now then, my little readers, who are, I hope, wondering what is\ncoming next, you must fancy to yourselves the old Sea Castle Home. It\nhad two large turrets; and winding staircases led from the passages\nand kitchens underneath the sitting rooms, up to the top of the\nturrets, and so out upon the leads of the house, from which there was\nthe most beautiful view of the Ocean you ever saw; and, as the top of\nthe house was battlemented, like the top of your church tower, people\ncould walk about quite safely and comfortably, without any fear of\nfalling over. Then, though it is a very unusual thing near the Sea,\nthere were delightful gardens at the place, and a few very fine old\nelm trees near the house, in which a party of rooks built their nests\nevery year; and the children had gardens of their own, in which they\ncould dig up their flowers to see if the roots were growing, to their\nheart's content, and perform other equally ingenious feats, such as\nwatering a plant two or three times a day, or after a shower of rain,\nand then wondering that, with such tender care, the poor thing should\nrot away and die.\n\nBut I almost think the children liked the sands on the shore as well\nas the gardens, though they loved both. Not that there was any\namusement astir by the water side there, as you have seen in other\nplaces where there are boats and fishermen and nets, and great coils\nof ropes, and an endless variety of entertaining sights connected with\nthe seafaring business going on. Nay, in some places where there is\nnot a very good shore for landing, it is an amusement of itself to see\neach boat or fishing yawl come in. There is such a contrast between\nthe dark tarred wood and the white surf that dashes up all round it;\nand the fishermen are so clever in watching the favourable moment for\na wave to carry them over their difficulties; that I think this is one\nof the prettiest sights one can see. But no such thing was ever seen\non the shore by the old Sea Castle, for there was no fishing there.\nPeople thought the sea was too rough and the landing too difficult,\nand so no fishing village had ever been built, and no boats ever\nattempted to come within many miles of the place.\n\nNobody cared to ask further, or try to account for the wildness of the\nsea on that coast; but I can tell you all about it, although it must\nbe in a sort of half whisper--_The place was on the borders of Fairy\nLand!_ that is to say, many many unknown numbers of miles out at sea,\nright opposite to the Castle, there was a Fairy Island, and it was the\nFairies who kept the sea so rough all round them, for fear some\nadventurous sailor should approach the island, or get near enough to\nfish up some of the pearls and precious stones they kept in a crystal\npalace underneath the water.\n\nSo now you know the reason why the sea was so rough, and there was no\nfishing going on at the Sea Castle Home.\n\nIf you want to know whether any body ever saw the Fairy Island, I must\nsay, yes; but very seldom. And never but in the evening when the sun\nwas setting, and that under particular circumstances--namely, when he\nwent down into a dark red bank of clouds, or when there was a lurid\ncrimson hue over the sky just above the horizon. Then occasionally you\nmight see the dim hazy outline as of a beautiful mountainous island\nagainst the clouds, or the deep-coloured sky. There is an island\nsometimes seen from our western coast, under similar circumstances,\nbut which you strain your eyes in vain to discern by the brighter\nlight of day.[6]\n\n[6] Isle of Man from Blackpool.\n\nIt is a very ticklish thing to live on the borders of Fairy Land; for\nthough you cannot get to the Fairies, they can get to you, and it is\nnot altogether a pleasant thing to have your private affairs overseen\nand interfered with by such beings as they are, though sometimes it\nmay be most useful and agreeable. Besides which, there was a\nFairy-secret connected with the family that lived at the Sea Castle.\nAn Ancestress of the present Mistress had been a Fairy herself, and\nthough she had accommodated herself to mortal manners, and lived with\nher husband quite quietly as well as happily, and so her origin had\nbeen in a great measure forgotten, it was not unknown to her\ndescendant, the Lady Madeline, who now lived in the place. And, in\nfact, soon after Lady Madeline first came there, a Fairy named Eudora\nhad appeared to her, declaring herself to be a sort of distant cousin,\nand offering and promising friendship and assistance, whenever asked\nor even wished for. In return, she only begged to be allowed to visit,\nand ramble at will about the old place which she had known for so many\nmany long years, and had once had the unlimited run of; and she\nprotested with tears that the family should never in any way be\ndisturbed by her. Lady Madeline could not well refuse the request, but\nI cannot say she gave her fairy acquaintance any encouragement; and so\npoor Eudora never showed herself to them again. And Madeline never\nthought much about her, except now and then accidentally, when, if\nthey were walking on the sands, some extraordinarily rare and\nbeautiful shells would be thrown ashore by a wave at the children's\nfeet, as if tossed up especially for their amusement. And it was only\nin some such kind little way as this they were ever reminded of the\nFairy's existence.\n\nLady Madeline's eldest son, Roderick, always seemed most favoured by\nthe Fairy in the pretty things she sent ashore, and certainly he was a\nvery nice boy, and a very good one on the whole--cheerful and honest\nas the daylight, and very intelligent; but I cannot tell you, dear\nreaders, that he had _no_ faults, for that was not at all likely, and\nyou would not believe it if I said so, even although he is to be the\nHero of my tale.\n\nNow I do not want to make you laugh at him, but the story requires\nthat I should reveal to you one of his weak points. Well then,\nalthough he was six years old, he was afraid of being alone in the\ndark! Sometimes when he was in the large dining room with his Father\nand Mother at dinner time, she would perhaps ask him to fetch\nsomething for her from the drawing room which was close by; but, do\nyou know, if there were no candles in the room, he would look very\nsilly and refuse to go, even though there were a fire sufficient to\nsee by. He was too honest to make any false excuses, so he used just\nto say that the room was so dark he could not go!\n\nPoor Madeline was very sorry, for she wanted her little boy to be\nbrave, but somehow or other he had got very silly about his fears of\nbeing in the dark, and she could not succeed in curing him of his\nfolly.\n\n\"My dear Roderick,\" she would say sometimes, \"if I send in some\ncandles, will you go into the drawing room?\"\n\n\"O yes, Mamma.\"\n\n\"Then do you really mean to say you think _the Candles take care of\nyou_?\"\n\n\"No, Mamma.\"\n\n\"Then why won't you go into the room without; you know there is a\nfire?\n\n\"Because it is so dark, Mamma.\"\n\nHere was a difficulty indeed; for you see he _would_ come back to the\nold point, and would not listen to reason.\n\nOne day some conversation of this sort having passed between them,\nMadeline, as she was wont to do, asked him if God could not take care\nof him by night as well as by day; in the dark as well as in light,\nfor \"the darkness and light are both alike to him.\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" cried poor Roderick, with great animation, \"and I can tell\nyou a story about that. There was, once upon a time, a little Boy and\na Nurse who went out walking, and they walked so long they got\nbenighted in a very dark wood, and because it was so dark the Nurse\nscreamed and was very much frightened; and the little boy said,\n'Nurse, why are you frightened? Don't be frightened; I am not\nfrightened. God can take care of us in the dark as well as in the\nlight,'\"\n\n\"Oh Roderick! what a pretty story,\" cried his Mamma.\n\nAnd so thought Roderick; for his eye glistened and his cheek flushed\nas he came to the conclusion.\n\nAnd here, dear readers, was the worst difficulty of all; for though\nRoderick's reason was quite convinced that God could take care of him\nin the dark, he still could not bear to be in the dark without the\nhelp of candles besides, though he quite knew they could not take care\nof him at all. So you see by this that Reason, though it may convince\na person he is wrong, cannot put him right. There wants some other\nhelp for that. And here let me just stop a moment to beg you to beware\nof _bad habits_; for you see they become at last more powerful than\nreason itself.\n\nI do not know how Roderick first got into his foolish habit, and it\ndoes not much matter. I know he at one time had a fancy there was\nsomething unpleasant about the pipes that carried the water about the\nhouse, and he would not for a long time go by the pipes alone. Now,\nhow you laugh! well, but he got out of that nonsense; and I hope to be\nable to tell you that he got out of the other too: but at the time I\nspeak of, he made his Mamma full of sorrow for his want of sense and\ncourage.\n\nIt must be admitted that there were one or two excuses to be made for\nthe child. There was a great contrast between the Town House and the\nSea Castle. The Town House was full of lights. All the sitting rooms\nwere generally lighted, for a great deal of company came there, and\nthere were always lights along the passages; and the nursery windows\nlooked into a square, and the square was lighted up by lamps every\nnight; and it was one of Roderick's greatest pleasures to watch the\nlamplighter running quickly up the tall ladder to the lamps to light\nthem, and then popping down again equally hurriedly, and running along\n(ladder and all) to the next lamp post, and so on, till the square was\nbrilliant all round; and very often, as Roderick lay in his little bed\nwatching the glimmering thrown by these pretty lamps on the nursery\nwall, he used to think and think of his friend the nimble lamplighter,\ntill he dropped fast asleep. You see, therefore, he had very little to\ntry his courage in the Town House, and there was seldom or never any\nfuss about his fears till the move to the Sea Castle took place; and\nthen there were no more lamps and lamplighters, and no more\ncomfortable glimmerings from his bright pets the lamps after he went\nto bed; and he used to get silly directly, and declare that he saw\nbears whenever he shut his eyes; and he seemed to expect to find lions\nand tigers under the sofas, by the fuss he made when he was asked to\ngo into the rooms. Certainly there was a grand old fashioned lamp in\nthe hall of the Sea Castle; but the hall itself was so big, and went\nup so high, that the light in one part only seemed to make the shadow\nand darkness of the other part look blacker still; so that I must\nconfess there was something gloomy about the house. Then, too, there\nwere those two turrets with the winding staircases, and as Roderick\nhad never dared to do any thing more than peep in at the low entrance\ndoors below, where he saw nothing but four or five steps going up into\ncomplete blackness, he had got a sort of notion there must be\nsomething horrid about them.\n\nWell; it was soon after this little boy's sixth birthday, that the\nfamily arrived at the Sea-Castle, and it so happened, that, on the day\nafter their arrival, there was some very stormy and dismal weather.\nThe wind howled very loudly, and there was a good deal of rain; and\nLady Madeline wished they had waited a week or two longer. The sky was\nso charged and heavy, too, that they found the house very dark, even\nby day-light; and Roderick, who was a little tired with his journey\nthe day before, began to fancy all kinds of nonsense; talked more\nabout seeing bears than ever; and finally cried tremendously at going\nto bed, declaring he was sure there was a tiger in the coal-pan. Now\nyou know, my dears, this was a bit of great nonsense; for Roderick\nknew quite well that there are no wild beasts in England but what are\nkept in very strong cages; and that the men who take wild-beast shows\nround the country can by no means afford to let their tigers sleep in\nnursery coal-pans!\n\nPoor Madeline never liked to see any of her children go to bed in\ntears. And Roderick was so gay and merry generally, it seemed quite\nunnatural in him; but though at last he left off crying, she could not\npersuade him to be cheerful, and smile; for he declared that as soon\nas ever she took her candle away, he could not help seeing those\nunlucky bears. Was there ever any thing so silly before! She reasoned\nwith him, but to no purpose. He always said he quite believed in God's\npresence, and His being able to take care of him; but, as I said\nbefore, his bad habit had got the better of his good sense, and he\nfinished off every thing that could be said, by seeing bears, and\ndreading a tiger in the coal-pan.\n\n\"What are we to do with that child?\" cried Madeline to her husband, as\nthey were going to bed. \"He is beginning as foolishly as ever this\nyear, in spite of being a year older. I really shall at last be\ninclined to think that in spite of all her fair promises of friendship\nand assistance, and of never injuring the family, the Fairy Eudora\nmust secretly frighten the child in some way we don't know of.\"\n\n\"No such thing, my dear Madeline; I cannot for a moment believe it;\"\nsaid her husband. \"I have a better opinion of your relations, the\nFairies, than you have yourself. I am sure Eudora would not break her\nword for the world; and there is no mystery about Roderick's folly. He\nis full of fancies of all sorts,--some pretty, and some silly ones;\nand we must do every thing we can to cure him of the silly ones. It\ncertainly is a very hard matter to accomplish, for I perceive he\nadmits the truth of every thing you say, and yet is as silly as ever\nat the end. I heartily wish the Fairy Eudora _would_ interfere to cure\nhim of his nonsense!\"\n\n\"And so do I, if she could, and would,\" sighed Madeline; \"but she has\nquite deserted us. Besides, if she were to come, I don't see how she\ncould possibly do any good. Fairies cannot change little boys' hearts;\nand I must confess I never yet got any good myself from having a Fairy\nancestress, and I have no confidence in them.--Still,\" pursued the\ngood lady, as she laid her head on her pillow, \"I am not able, it\nappears, to convince Roderick myself; and therefore I feel, with you,\nthat I wish the Fairy would come and try.\"\n\n\"I fear it is in vain to say so now, Madeline. We have wished the poor\ncreature out of the way so often for the last ten years, that it is\nnot very likely a single wish the other way will bring her to us.\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" murmured the Fairy Eudora, who at that moment was\nstanding on the shore of the Fairy Island; \"you are a pretty pair, you\ntwo, to think of such a thing! I begged to be allowed to come about\nthe place years ago, and you didn't refuse; but you always kept me\naway by _wishing_ I mightn't come; and now, because you are puzzled to\nknow what to do with your silly child, you want me with you for the\nfirst time these ten years! Oh, you selfish people, don't fancy I'll\ncome near you!\" And the justly angry Fairy stamped her foot in\nindignation, and retired into private apartments in the palace.\n\nDo not be surprised at what you have just heard, my dear children; for\nthough you may have never thought about the power and importance of\n_wishes_, there is, I assure you, a great deal of both one and the\nother belonging to them. Some people talk, indeed, of \"mere wishes,\"\nas if they were trifles light as air; but it is not so. To prove this,\nfirst think what importance is attached to them in the Scriptures.\nWishes are a sort of porch or doorway to actions. In the Tenth\nCommandment we are forbidden to _wish_ for what belongs to our\nneighbour;--for who is so likely to break the Eighth Commandment, and\nsteal, as the man who breaks the Tenth, and wishes for any thing that\nis not his?\n\nAnd so, all the evil in the world begins by _wishing_ something wrong;\nand if you can cure yourself of wishing wrongly, you will very seldom\n_do_ wrong.\n\nNow you see, I am sure, how important wishes are for evil; but they\nare equally strong for good. For, if you wish well to any one, you\nhave opened the first door to doing him a kindness. And if you\nheartily wish to be good, you have opened the first gate on the road\nof becoming so. Of course, wishes will not do every thing; but they do\na great deal.\n\nAnd there is another thing. They never fall to the ground unnoticed.\nThough you and I cannot look into each other's hearts, or hear the\nwishes breathed there, there is One who hears them all. Good wishes,\nmy dear children, all ascend upwards to the throne of Grace, like\nsweet perfume. They are all accepted and remembered; and, I fear I\nmust add, that bad wishes go up too, and are noted in His book who\ntakes account of all we do.\n\nBe sure, therefore, that you encourage your hearts in a habit of good,\nand kind, and charitable wishes; and if ever the bad ones come into\nyour head, pray against them, and drive them away.\n\nMeanwhile do not be surprized that in Fairy tales, Fairies are\nsupposed to hear wishes concerning themselves. And so Eudora heard\nthose about her coming and curing the child of his folly; and as I\nhave told you, she was very indignant at the selfishness of both Lady\nMadeline and her husband.\n\nA few days after the family had taken up their residence in the Sea\nCastle, the weather began to improve; and, though the wind lasted, the\nsun came out; and all the children and the nurses went walking on the\nsands. As it was the first time that year, you may guess what shouting\nand delight there was; how the little spades dug away at holes for the\nsea-water to come up in, and how the children caught at the sea-weeds\nthat were scattered on the lands to carry home to their Mamma; how\nthey picked up shells, and gambolled about in all directions,\ndeclaring that they had never known the Sea Castle Home so delightful\nbefore. By degrees they had strayed to a considerable distance along\nthe sands, with the nurses, when, alas! the latter perceived that a\nstorm was coming on, and it caught them long before they reached home.\nA strong wind blew off the sea, and they had difficulty in keeping\ntheir feet, and at last two or three of the children were almost\nhidden in a cloud of sand, which a violent gust suddenly drove against\nthem. All the little party cried lustily, because the sand had blown\ninto their eyes, and made them smart, and sad work there was in\ngetting them home again. But they reached home at last, dripping with\nwet from hailstones, and their eyes all red and disfigured by the sand\nand wind. None, however, were so bad as those I have mentioned, who\nhad been so covered over by the sand that it had even got down their\nnecks, and made them uncomfortable all over. Among these was Roderick,\nwho cried a great deal more than he ought to have done, as the nurses\nthought, and did not stop and declare himself comfortable as the rest\ndid, after the sand had been washed out of his eyes with rose water.\nIn fact he kept crying more or less all the afternoon, saying his eyes\nhurt him so, and at last he could get no relief but by holding them\nshut.\n\nNow it is just possible you may have heard of a complaint of the eyes\ncalled Ophthalmia, which comes on sometimes in very hot countries,\nIndia for instance; and sometimes in travelling across the deserts of\nArabia, where the sand gets into the eyes, and irritates them very\nmuch; it can very often be cured, but not always, and when it cannot,\nit ends in blindness. Lady Madeline knew all about the complaint; and,\ntherefore, you will not be surprised to hear that when she found her\nlittle boy's eyes did not get better, and that he persisted in keeping\nthem shut, because they then became easy, she thought it right to send\nto some miles' distance for a doctor, who accordingly arrived at the\nSea Castle before nightfall. But when he came he shook his head very\nmuch, for he could not understand what was the matter; and when he\npersuaded Roderick to lift up his eyelids, to let him see his eyes, he\ncould perceive nothing amiss but a little redness, which the wind and\nsand quite accounted for. Still the child was uneasy, and would keep\nhis eyes shut; so the Doctor thought he must try something, and he\nused some lotions common in such cases; but, as they did no good, the\nkind old gentleman, at Madeline's request, consented to sit by the\nlittle boy's bedside at night; when, all at once, as he was carefully\ndabbing his eyes with rosewater, he perceived that the child was fast\nasleep.\n\nThe Doctor was delighted, and went to his mother, who was then with\nher husband, and said that as Roderick had gone to sleep so nicely, he\nhad no doubt that his eyes would be well when he awoke in the morning,\nand so he took his leave, for he had other patients to visit.\n\nIt was then between twelve and one o'clock, and Lady Madeline, much\ncomforted in heart, went to bed. At an early hour next morning,\nhowever, she went to Roderick's bedside, and perceived he was just\nwaking.\n\nTo the question of \"How are you, my darling?\" his cheerful joyous\nvoice made answer, \"Oh, quite well, Mamma, and I've such a funny dream\nto tell you, and my eyes don't hurt me a bit, not a bit! but I'm\nafraid to open them for fear they should. I can tell you something so\nfunny the Doctor said last night, Mamma.\" \"Never mind about the\ndoctor, you rogue,\" cried Madeline, \"I see you are all right, only\njust open your dear old eyes, that I may tell Papa I have seen them\nwhen I go back to dress.\"\n\n\"Then I will, Mamma, to please you!\" and up sat the pretty child in\nhis bed, and opened wide his blue eyes. There was no redness--it was\nall gone--but\n\n\"Mamma! where are you,\" cried Roderick, \"I have opened my eyes, and\nthey don't hurt--but it is quite dark: _isn't the night over_?...\"\n\nOh, my dear readers! there was a stream of sunshine on the lovely face\nand bright hair of little Roderick as he spoke, and the poor blue eyes\nwere turned up to his mother, looking vainly for her face. You cannot\nwonder if I add that she sank down fainting on the bed; and when\nRoderick's scream of terror brought the nurses to them, she was\ncarried away insensible from the room.\n\nHer darling was utterly blind.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd now imagine to yourselves how the afflicted parents sent for the\nbest doctors the country afforded, and how one thing after another was\ntried--but, alas! every thing in vain, for the medical men were all\nquite puzzled. Still some people gave them hopes, and in spite of many\ndisappointments, they went on trying to hope for several months. At\nlast they settled to leave the sea castle and go to the great town\nsooner than usual, thinking some of the doctors there might be\ncleverer than the country ones. But they had no better success.\nPerhaps now you would like to know how Roderick behaved. When his\nMamma fell on his bed, at first he thought she was dead, and it was\nwith the greatest difficulty he could be made to believe any thing\nelse, and he cried, and cried, and was very sad till his Mamma was\nwell enough for him to be taken to her, and then do you know, poor\nfellow, he was so much pleased to hear her speak, and be kissed by\nher, that he still had no time to think about himself. Only he begged\nto sit close to her, and have hold either of her hand or gown, and\nmake her say something to him every now and then. And so it was that\nthe fright and shock he had had about thinking she was dead, had made\nso strong an impression on him that for several days the making\nhimself sure she was alive was a constant occupation and interest; and\nso much did he think about it that it was considered best for his\nlittle bed to be brought into the room where his Mamma slept, and put\nnear hers, so that he could talk to her when he awoke and got\nfrightened about her again. And thus passed many days in which every\nbody thought a great deal more about his eyes than he did himself.\nBesides from the cheerful things they said to him he quite expected to\nbe better some day; and so weeks and months passed, and by the time\nthe hope of recovering his sight began to fade away, and nobody any\nlonger dared to say they expected it, he was beginning to get used to\nhis condition, and to find out amusements in new ways. Thus mercifully\ndoes a kind Providence temper people's minds to the afflictions He\nsends. They are often more dreadful to think of than to bear; for God\ncan give patience and cheerfulness and comfort to those that do not\ngrumble and repine.\n\nMadeline only exacted one promise from her husband, namely, that he\nwould not allow the doctors to use any very severe and violent\nmeasures with her little boy, and this being settled, she struggled to\nbear the trouble with resignation. After the first alternations of\nhopes and fears were over, the Mother's mind took a new turn. \"It is\nour chief duty now,\" she said, \"to make our child's life as happy as\nit is possible to be with blindness, and therefore,\" added she to the\nelder children, \"we must try our best to teach him to do all the nice\nthings he can without seeing.\" That day she asked him to come and hold\nworsted for her to wind, and he was quite delighted to find that with\nsome blunders, and once or twice slipping it off his fingers, he could\nmanage it very well. Then the children undertook to teach him how to\nplay at ball, and you cannot think how clever he became. At first\ncertainly they had always to pick up his ball for him when it fell,\nand who was not glad to do it for poor brother Roderick? but by\ndegrees he could judge by the sound in what direction it had tumbled,\nand he would often succeed in finding it before any one could come up\nto it. Then there was laughing and scrambling without end. Reading\naloud to him was the easiest thing of all, but the little folks were\nnot satisfied with that alone. They made a sort of pet of the blind\nbrother, and were as proud of teaching him to do any thing fresh, as\nyou would be of teaching your dog to sit up and shake hands, or\nperform any wonderful feat. It was their constant amusement; and by\ndegrees Roderick could play at all sorts of games with them, ay, and\nrun after them, and catch them too as well as you could do, for he\nsoon got to remember how the furniture in the great hall and all the\nrooms stood, and he could run about without hurting himself in a\nwonderful manner. And when it was evening and grew dark, he got on\nbetter than they did, for, if they couldn't see, they were clumsy,\nwhereas he was learning to do without seeing at all.\n\nSuch of my readers as have seen one of those excellent institutions\ncalled \"blind schools,\" will not wonder at any thing I have said, but\non the contrary, will know that I have not told half or a quarter of\nwhat may be done to teach blind children a variety of employments. At\nthose schools you may see children making beautiful baskets of\nvarious-coloured strips of osier arranged in patterns; and they never\nforget on which side of them the different colours are laid, and this\nwork they can go on with quite fast, even while you stand talking to\nthem--and they learn to do many many other nice things also besides\nbasket making.\n\nOf late years too they have begun to read in books made on purpose for\nthem, with the letters raised above the rest of the paper, so that\nthey can _feel_ the shapes with their fingers. Is not this wonderful?\nAnd they can be taught all these things much more easily than you\nwould imagine, for it is really true that when one of the senses has\nbeen taken away, the others by having all the exercise thrown upon\nthem, become so sharp and acute, they do twice their usual work, if I\nmay so express it. This is a merciful dispensation of Providence,\nwhich renders the loss of the one that is gone much less hard to bear.\nAnd does it not teach us also, what a valuable thing constant practice\nis? Neither you nor I can feel or hear half so clearly as blind people\ncan, who practise feeling and hearing on so many occasions where we\nsave ourselves the trouble, by using sight instead.\n\nTo return to Roderick. You perhaps expected to hear that he fretted\nand petted very much after he was first blind, but really it was not\nso; and though occasionally he may have grumbled a little, it was only\nwhen he was slightly peevish, as children will sometimes be, and I\nbelieve he would have found something to grumble about then, even if\nhe had seen as well as you do.\n\nBesides, as I said before, the knowledge of his misfortune came upon\nhim by degrees; and after he had got used to it, he did not think much\nabout it. When the family moved to the great town, Roderick had as it\nwere to begin his blind lessons over again, for he had to learn to\nremember all about the rooms and the furniture there; but with a kind\nlittle brother or sister always at hand to help him he soon became\nexpert in the town house too, and could run up and down the long\nflights of stairs with the nimblest of them. I believe the only\nmelancholy wish he ever uttered was heard on the first day he reached\nthe town house. When his Mamma came to see him in the nursery that\nevening, she found him kneeling in a chair against one of the\nwindows--and on going up to him he threw his arms round her neck and\nsaid, \"Oh, Mamma, if I could but see the lamplighters!\" Do not laugh,\ndear readers, if I add that the tears trickled over his cheeks as he\nspoke. His mother was much distressed, as she always was when she saw\nhim thinking of his affliction, but she sat down and said, \"Never\nmind, dear Roderick, I will tell you all they do to-night.\" And so she\ndid, and she made her account so droll, of how the lamplighter ran,\nand how he seized his ladder in such a hurry, and all the whole\nbusiness, that by the time she got to the end, and said, \"and now he\nhas come to the last lamp-post,--ah, he's up before I can tell you!\nand pop! the lamp is lit, and down he runs, and off with his ladder to\nthe next street--and now the lamps are shining bright all round the\nsquare, and I must go to dinner,\"--Roderick was clapping his hands and\nlaughing as merrily as ever, and he got down from the chair quite\nsatisfied. Still for a few weeks he used always to get one of the\nchildren to tell him of the lamps lighting, and this was the only sad\nlittle fancy the poor child ever indulged in.\n\nThe great town gave him various new amusements. His Parents used every\nnow and then to take him to some fine conservatory, where flowers are\nshown even in winter, and where he could smell various new and rare\nones, and be told all about their beautiful colours. Then sometimes in\nthe parks and gardens there was a band playing, which was a great\ndelight. And besides that, they took him occasionally to morning\nconcerts for an hour or so; for though it is not usual to take\nchildren to those places, he was deprived of so many enjoyments, they\nlet him have all they could: and especially musical ones, for it is a\nvery common thing for blind people to become very fond of music, and\nRoderick was so, and among other employments learnt to play. I cannot,\nhowever, I am sorry to say, add that the great doctors in the town\nwere able to do him any good, though they tried very much, and some of\nthem were so much charmed and interested by his cheerful manner and\nsweet disposition, that they got quite fond of him, and would often\nhave him come and see them, and play with their children, who were\ninstructed to amuse him in every possible way, and as children are\nnaturally kindhearted, this was generally a pleasant task, and many of\nthem quite looked forward to the visits of the little blind boy.\n\nAnd so passed on a long and rather severe winter, and presently\nRoderick's birthday came round, and there was great wondering as to\nwhat Mamma could do to keep it. And when the time came it turned out\nthat she had got a band of musicians to come and play--and the\nchildren danced, and Roderick among them, for some sister was always\nready to take him under her especial charge. And then some older\nchildren acted a little play, which he could hear and understand, and\nhis Mamma described to him who came in and went out, and in this\nmanner he enjoyed it nearly as much as the others.\n\nWell, the spring-time came once more, and with it the season for\nreturning to the old Sea Castle, and the children went through their\nusual round of impatience, and I cannot say that Roderick at all\nforbore, for his Papa had promised to teach him to climb a ladder like\nthe lamplighter when he got back, and he was by that means to go up\none of the very old elm trees, and get on to a great branch there was,\nwhich was curled into a sort of easy chair, and there he was to sit\nand play at being judge, and hold trials, and I know not what. There\nwere besides so many schemes for his instruction and amusement, and\namong other things, there was to be a band established in the\nneighbouring village, which should come and play to them in the old\nSea Castle--that the child was more wild with hurry and impatience\nthan ever, and said more absurd things than the rest, for he used\nevery day to declare the _flies_ were becoming so numerous and\ntroublesome he was plagued out of his life by their walking over his\nface and nose! But as none of his brothers and sisters ever saw the\nflies, we are obliged to conclude the tickling he talked of was only\nan effect of his excited imagination.\n\nAt last, however, they went, and in compliment to Roderick's wishes it\nwas a week or two sooner than usual. The return to the Sea Castle home\nrather oppressed poor Lady Madeline's spirits. The doctors in the\ngreat town had failed--it was now clear that nothing could be done,\nand in spite of all her sincere endeavours to be resigned, she could\nnot help feeling this coming back to the original scene of her\nmisfortune very much. One day--it was the anniversary of the day on\nwhich her poor child became blind, the Lady Madeline was working in\nher sitting-room that faced the Sea,--Mothers' memories are very acute\nabout anniversaries, and days, and even hours marked by particular\nevents. They may not talk much about them perhaps, but they recollect\ntimes and circumstances connected with their children very keenly, and\ntherefore it is not surprizing that on this day the poor lady was\nsitting in her room working, or trying to work, but thinking of\nnothing in the world but of that day year and her blind child. It was\na beautiful evening, and the window was thrown wide open, and the\nfresh but soft breeze from the Sea blew pleasantly on her face as she\nsat at her work-table by the casement--but lovely as the scene outside\nwas, she seldom lifted up her eyes to look at it. She had been all her\nlife a great admirer of beautiful scenes, and of all the varieties the\nchanges of day and night produce--but now the sight of any thing\nparticularly lovely brought so painfully before her mind the fact that\nher child's eyes were closed to all these things, that she often\nforbore to look again, and so spared herself a repetition of the pang.\nMadeline's eyes therefore remained upon her work, or on her knee when\nshe ceased working,--for ever and anon there was a burst of noise and\nmerriment about the old house, which startled her from her painful\nthoughts. It was, however, the happy voices of her children, and again\nand again she sank into her melancholy mood, and so continued till the\nred hue of a very red sunset burst as it were suddenly into the room,\nand lighted up the portrait of Roderick, which hung over the\nmantel-piece. Involuntarily Madeline's eyes glanced from the lovely\ncountenance of her then bright-eyed boy, thus illuminated, to the sun\nbeyond the Sea. She was too late, however. He had just descended\nbehind the waves in a perfect flood of crimson glory, but as she\ngazed, (for she could not withdraw-her eyes,) a haze--yes, the softest\nand most etherial cloud-like haze, showing the outline of a beautiful\nmountainous island, rose in the far off distance, just on the verge of\nthe horizon. It was the Fairy Island. It recalled to the mother's\nremembrance the existence of her Fairy cousin once more. \"Cruel, cruel\nEudora,\" she exclaimed, \"you offered me friendship and assistance, and\nin the hour of trouble and affliction you have never been near to help\nor even to comfort me.\"\n\nAnd Madeline, in the bitterness of her heart, closed the window\nhastily and angrily, and sat down. Soon, however, the noises she had\nseveral times heard of the children playing, became louder and louder,\nand the whole party burst at last into the room. \"Mamma, Mamma,\" they\ncried, scarcely able to speak, \"guess where Roderick has been.\" \"I\ncannot.\" \"Oh, but do, dear Mamma!\" cried a little thing with fairy\ncurls, \"do guess.\" \"I cannot.\" \"I'll tell Mamma,\" cried a stout sturdy\nfellow, a little older; \"Mamma! he's been up the winding staircase of\none turret, and all along the leads and down the winding staircase of\nthe other turret, and he has done it three times, and he has seen to\ndo it better than I can.\"\n\nHere there was a burst of laughter and a violent clapping of hands at\nthe little fellow's _Irish_ account.\n\n\"But why don't you do it as well?\" asked an elder girl, \"you that are\ngoing to be a soldier too!\"\n\n\"Yes; I know I'm going to be a soldier; and I'll try and do it as well\nas Roderick;\" and off ran the eager child, followed by the rest of the\nparty, all but Roderick. He lingered behind, and edging his way easily\nand quietly as usual to his Mother, having asked her where she was, he\nsat down on a footstool at her feet. The slight answer she had\noccasion to make, revealed by its tone, to the now acute blind child,\nthat his Mother's mood was serious, and therefore he did not talk and\nlaugh of what he had accomplished, as he otherwise might have done.\nThere was a silence of some minutes: at last, \"Mamma,\" said Roderick\ngravely, \"a light has broken in upon me to-day.\"\n\nLady Madeline started, and with difficulty suppressed a groan.\nRoderick felt the start: \"Oh Mamma, Mamma,\" cried he more cheerfully,\n\"you must not do that! I wasn't thinking about earthly light in the\nleast, but of a light which I know, when you come to hear of it, you\nwill say is a great deal better.\"\n\n\"Indeed! dear Roderick,\" said Lady Madeline, trying to seem\ninterested.\n\n\"Yes _indeed_. Mamma. Why, do _you_ remember, (_I_ had never thought\nabout it till it came into my head to-day;) but do _you_ remember the\nsilly time when I wouldn't fetch you any thing from the drawing room,\nunless there were candles in the room?\"\n\n\"I recollect something about it,\" said his Mother.\n\n\"Oh, I'm so glad you do; because now you can laugh with me over the\nnonsense I used to talk and feel then: I remember I used to tell you I\nsaw _Bears_ when I shut my eyes, and wouldn't go by the pipes in the\npassage, and more such foolish stuff! How odd it seems that I should\nnever have thought about this before, but I never did, and it never\ncame into my head distinctly till to-day.\" And here Roderick fell into\na kind of dream for a few minutes, but he soon began again. \"You know\nwhat I have done to-day, Mamma. They told you quite right; but they\nforgot to tell you I have been practising walking across the leads for\ntwo or three days, that I might be able to go the great round to-day\non purpose to tell you of it; because I thought you would be so much\npleased to know I could go alone all over the house on the day year\nwhen I was first blind. So now, Mamma, if ever, when I am grown up to\nbe a man, an enemy comes and attacks the old Sea Castle, I shall be\nable to run about and give the alarm, for you know I could hear them,\nif I could do nothing else.\"\n\nThere was another pause, for Madeline could not speak: the often\nrestrained tears for her son's misfortune had this day burst forth,\nand could not be kept back; but Roderick did not know, and went on.\n\n\"Certainly those old foolish fears were very wrong, Mamma. And I can't\nthink how it was, for you used to remind me always that God could take\ncare of us by night as well as by day, in darkness as well as in\nlight; and still somehow, though I knew it was true, I didn't believe\nit,--at least, not so as not to be afraid in the dark: how very wrong\nit was! Still I had quite forgotten all about it till this evening.\nBut, as I was going the last of the three rounds, I sat down on the\nleads for a few minutes to enjoy the air. The sun was just setting, I\nam sure, for it felt so fresh and cool; and it was, as I sat there,\nthat it came into my head how strange it was that, since the day I was\nfirst blind, I had never thought any more about being afraid in the\ndark! or by night any more than by day! Indeed it has been quite a\nplay to me ever since to do different things, and find my way about in\nall the rooms and all over the house, without seeing; and I have only\nknown night from day by getting up and going to bed. So that you see,\nMamma, being always in the dark, has quite cured me of being afraid of\nit: and is not this a very good thing indeed?\"\n\n\"Very,\" murmured Madeline.\n\n\"I knew you would say so! But that isn't all I have got to say. A\ngreat deal more than that came into my head when I was out upon the\nleads.\"\n\nAnd Roderick nestled closer to his Mother, and laid his arms across\nher lap.\n\n\"Something to comfort you still more, Mamma.\"\n\nShe could not speak.\n\n\"Mamma, you are crying! I feel your tears on my hand. Do not cry about\nme.\"\n\n\"Go on, dear Roderick.\"\n\n\"Don't you think,\" continued the child, \"that people who wont listen\nto what is told them, and wont be cured of being foolish and wicked,\nare very like the old Jews you told us about yesterday, who had God\namong them, and Moses teaching them what God wished them to do, and\nstill were as disobedient as ever?\"\n\n\"It is true, Roderick, we are all apt to resemble the Jews in their\njourney through the wilderness.\"\n\n\"Yes, Mamma; and particularly people who can't trust in God, though\nthey know He is everywhere. The Jews knew He was in the cloud and the\npillar, and still were always afraid He couldn't take care of them.\nAnd what came into my head was, that I used to be as bad as those old\nJews once; knowing that God was present everywhere to take care of me,\nand still not _feeling_ it so as really to believe it, and not be\nafraid. But the blindness has quite cured me, and is it not very\nlikely that it came on purpose to do so, and to make me trust in God;\nfor I have done so more and more, dear Mamma, as I groped about this\nyear, for I have all along hoped He would take care of me, and keep me\nfrom falling; and, therefore, I think the blindness has done me a\ngreat deal of good, and I hope I shall never be like the naughty old\nJews again! This is what I had to say; and I hope you will be as glad\nas I am.\"\n\n\"I will try, my darling,\" cried poor Madeline.\n\nThe tenderest love, the bitterest grief, mixed with earnest struggles\nfor resignation to the will of Heaven, contended in the Mother's\nbosom, as she clasped her innocent child to her heart. He was almost\nfrightened. She lifted him on to her knees, and buried her face on his\nshoulder. He put his young arms round her neck, and almost wondered\nwhy she sobbed so bitterly; but he felt he must not speak.\n\nThere was a painful pause. Suddenly, however, a strange faint light\nbegan to creep into the room, which had hitherto been gradually\ndarkening in the twilight. It was a mysterious gleam, like nothing\nthat is ever seen. It increased in strength and brilliancy, till at\nlength the whole place became illuminated.\n\nRoderick's head was against his Mother's breast; and, besides, _he_\ncould not see.\n\nShe, however, suddenly started up; the light had become so powerful,\nit had forced her from her grief. She sprung up in terror, and a faint\nshriek burst from her lips.\n\n\"Mamma, what is the matter?\" cried Roderick, holding her fast.\n\n\"Oh, the light--the light, my child! there is such a light!\" answered\nMadeline.\n\n\"Mother, you are not afraid of _Light_!\" exclaimed the bewildered\nRoderick.\n\n\"Oh, but _this_ light! it is like no other;--it is awful!\"\n\n\"Mother,--it is not the light of _Fire_, is it,\" cried poor Roderick,\nnow at last turning pale. \"But even if it is, remember that I can help\nyou _now_; I can go everywhere,--all over, and fear nothing. I can go\nand fetch my brothers and sisters, one by one! Oh, send me; send me,\nMamma! I shall be less afraid than any of you, for I cannot see the\nhorrid light that frightens you!\"\n\nAs he finished, a gentle, prolonged \"Hush!\" resounded through the\nroom; like the soothing, quieting sound of lullaby to an infant. And\nin the midst of the beaming light, the form of the long-forgotten\nFairy Eudora appeared before the eyes of the astonished Madeline.\n\n\"The Sea Castle is not on Fire, you dear, brave child,\" cried the\nFairy; \"and your Mother has no cause for fear. I am a friend.\"\n\n\"Cousin!\" cried the bewildered Madeline, \"why are you here?\" and a\nterrible suspicion flashed through her mind: and she pointed to her\nboy, and added, trembling with agony--\n\n\"Is that _your_ doing?\"\n\n\"What if I say it _is_, Cousin Madeline. There is a long story about\nthat, but we shall have time for it hereafter.--Dear little Cousin\nRoderick,\" pursued the Fairy, seating herself, and drawing Roderick to\nher. \"You have been a good boy, and got _light out of darkness_. Mind\nyou hold it fast. You did not use the light well, though, when you had\nit, Cousin Roderick.\"\n\n\"I know I didn't,\" was his answer.\n\n\"If you could live the light time over again, you would be wiser,\nRoderick.\"\n\n\"I hope I should indeed,\" he murmured fervently; \"but it is not likely\nI shall ever see the light again.\"\n\n\"Little boys shouldn't say things are not likely, when they don't know\nany thing about them,\" cried the Fairy gaily, to cheer them up.\n\n\"I dare say, if I were to ask you, you would tell me it was a bit of\nsand that got into your eyes last year, that made you blind; but it\nwas no such thing, clever Master Roderick. Your naughty Cousin Eudora\nhad something to do with that; but, luckily, she can put her own work\nstraight again. Cousin Madeline, what do you think of my pretty\nlight?\"\n\n\"Eudora, it is dreadful.\"\n\n\"Then shut your eyes, poor thing, we don't want to blind you. But\nRoderick and I have not done talking yet. Come, little boy, lift up\nyour face towards me, and open those pretty eyes wide, that I may see\nif I can't do them some good. Why, they are as blue as the water round\nour island! There, now, they are looking at my face. Mind you tell me\nif you think me pretty.\"\n\n\"Eudora!\" exclaimed Madeline.\n\n\"Sit down, sit down, and shut your eyes, good woman. Now, Roderick,\nwont even my Fairy light break through your darkness?\"\n\n\"I think it will,\" sighed Roderick; \"there is a white light all round\nme, as if I had gone up into a bright white cloud. You frighten me,\nFairy! Take away the light, and put me back into the darkness again.\"\n\n\"Not so, my pretty Roderick; but I will soften it a little;\" and she\nwaved her wand, and the brilliancy subsided.\n\n\"Fairy, I see you now,\" screamed Roderick, springing up, for he was\nsitting at her feet; \"and oh, how beautiful you are!\"\n\n\"Roderick!\" cried a voice from behind him. He turned; and Mother and\nSon were locked in each other's arms.\n\nSurely I need say no more about this? though perhaps nobody but a\nMother can quite know how happy and thankful Lady Madeline was. And as\nto Roderick, he was delighted too! Not but what he had been very happy\nand contented before; but sight was a new pleasure to him now; a sort\nof treat, like a birthday or Christmas present, which puts every one\ninto high spirits. It was so charming to him, poor fellow, (for he was\nvery affectionate), to actually _see_ his Mamma again; and this put\nsomething else into his head, and off he ran out of the room.\n\n\"Eudora,\" Madeline began, \"how am I to thank you! Can you ever forgive\nmy old unkindness?\"\n\n\"Cousin Madeline,\" replied the Fairy, \"I bear no malice to any one,\nleast of all to you, who come of a race I love, and of a family I\nconsider my own. No, no, good soul. I have never borne you ill-will,\nthough my kindness has been severe. Look! I know you love me _now_.\nLove me always, Cousin Madeline, and let me ramble undisturbed about\nyour earthly home; but, mind! no more unkind wishes, however slight.\nThey come like evil winds to our Fairy island. You kept me away long\nenough by those; and when you wished me with you, to get your child\nout of his folly, I was very angry, and thought I wouldn't come; but\nyour, and your husband's wish was so strong and earnest, it haunted me\nday and night; and I had no comfort till I had resolved to help you.\nAnd here, Madeline, you have something to forgive _me_. My remedy has\nbeen a harsh, a very harsh one for so slight a fault; but at first I\nintended it to last only a few days. Afterwards, however, seeing how\nit was acting upon him, and upon you all, for good, I let it work its\nfull effect: and I think it has been greatly blessed! Now, farewell!\nTime is flying, and I must begone.\"\n\nAnd thus the Fairy and Madeline walked to the window, which the latter\nreopened, and there was the full moon sailing in the cloudless sky,\nand lighting up the lovely, and, this evening, calm and unruffled sea.\n\nThe cousins embraced; and in a few minutes the Fairy had disappeared\nin the distance. Madeline lingered awhile at the casement, thinking\ntenderly of the gentle-hearted Fairy, and watching the horizon. At\nlast the outline of the Fairy's home appeared clear and bright against\nthe dark blue heaven, and then subsided gently by degrees. And\nMadeline closed the window, grateful and happy, and went after her\nboy. But she had not far to go; for he was coming along the passages\nwith all his brothers and sisters, wild with delight. And oh, how\nRoderick chattered and talked about all their faces, and how he loved\nto see the fat cheeks of one near his own age, and how some had grown,\nand their noses improved, and what beautiful curls another had! In\nshort, if he had gone on long they would all have got quite conceited\nand fancy, and fancied themselves a set of downright beauties. But you\nsee it was _love_ that made poor Roderick admire them all so much;\nand, above all, he was charmed when they smiled. Ah, how little do\nbrothers and sisters know how tender their recollections of each\nothers' faces would become, were a separation to take place among\nthem! Then all the sweet smiles and pretty looks would be recalled,\nthat in every day life are seen with such indifference. \"Little\nchildren, love one another,\" during the happy days when you live\ntogether in health and comfort.\n\nCan you guess, dear readers, what a joyous evening it was, that day at\nthe Sea Castle Home? How the poor Father rejoiced, and how the old\nHall was lighted up for the Servants, to share in the joy by a merry\ndance; and how all the children danced too; and how a barrel of good\nale was tapped, for every one to drink to the health and happiness of\nMaster Roderick, and all the family. But you never _can_ guess how\nRoderick teased all his brothers and sisters that evening, by\nconstantly kissing them. In the midst of a country dance he would run\nright across to the ladies, when he ought to be standing still and\npolite, and kiss two or three of his sisters as they were waiting to\ndance in their turn, and tell them how nice they looked! Or he would\nactually run right away from his place, to his Papa and Mamma;--jump\non their knees, and hug them very hard, and then run back again,\nperhaps, into the middle of the dance, and put every thing into\nconfusion. But the happiest scene of all was, when the Father and\nMother thanked God that night for the blessing that had returned to\ntheir little boy.\n\nAnd do not ask me, I beg, if he ever was afraid of being in the dark\nagain. No, dear Readers, his temporary misfortune had taught him the\nbest of all lessons;--A LIVING FAITH AND TRUST IN THE PROTECTING\nOMNIPRESENCE OF GOD.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LOVE OF GOD.\n\nPREAMBLE (FROM LIFE.)\n\n_Van Artevelde_. These are but words.\n_Elena_. My lord, they're full of meaning!\n     _Van Artevelde_.\n\n\nGrace had been said, and Mamma was busy carving for the large party of\nyoungsters who sat around the comfortable dinner-table, when a little\nvoice from among them called out,\n\n\"Mamma, do you think a giant could see a carraway seed?\"\n\nNow there was no sweet loaf on the table, nor even on the\nsideboard--neither had there been any plum cake in the house for some\ntime--nor were there any carraway seeds in the biscuits just then.\n--In short, there was nothing which could be supposed to have\nsuggested the idea of carraway seeds to the little boy who made the\nenquiry. Still he did make it, and though he went on quietly with his\ndinner, he expected to receive an answer.\n\nHad the good Lady at the head of the table not been the mother of a\nlarge family, she might possibly have dropt the carving knife and\nfork, in sheer astonishment at the unaccountableness of the question,\nbut as it was, she had heard so many other odd ones before, that she\ndid not by outward sign demonstrate the amusement she felt at this,\nbut simply said,--\"_Perhaps he could_\"--for she knew that it was out\nof her power to speak positively as to whether a Giant could see a\ncarraway seed or not.\n\nNow dear little readers, what do _you_ think about this very important\naffair? Do you think a Giant could see a carraway seed or not?--\"Oh\nyes,\" you all cry,--\"_of course he could!_\"\n\nNay, my dears, there is no \"of course\" at all in the matter! Can any\nof you, for example, see the creatures that float about and fight in a\ndrop of water from the Serpentine River? No, certainly not! except\nthrough a microscope. Well, but _why_ not?--you do not know. That I\ncan easily believe! But then you must never again say that \"_of\ncourse_\" a Giant could see a carraway seed.\n\nIt is entirely a question of _relative proportion_: so now you feel\nquite small, and admit your total ignorance, I hope. Yes! it all\ndepends upon whether the giant is as much bigger than the carraway\nseed, as you are bigger than the curious little insects that float\nabout and fight in the drop of water from the Serpentine river--for if\nhe is, we may conclude from analogy that a giant could _not_ see a\ncarraway seed except through a microscope. You see it is a sort of\nrule of three sum, but as I cannot work it out, I tell you honestly\nthat neither do I know whether a giant could see so small an object or\nnot, and I advise you all to be as modest as I am myself, and never\nspeak positively on so difficult a point.\n\nBut enough of this! Turn we now to another point, about which I _can_\nspeak positively--namely, that in _one_ sense the world is full of\nGiants who cannot see Carraway seeds.\n\n\"It must be in the sense of _Non_sense I should think then!\" observes\nsomewhat scornfully the young lady who is reading this story\naloud--\"as if we could believe in there being giants now!\"\n\nVery wittily remarked! my dear young lady, for your age.--I take you\nto be about seventeen, and I see by the compression of your pretty\nmouth that you consider yourself quite a judge and an authority. Only\ntake care you don't grow up into one of those Giants yourself! There\nis something very suspicious to me in the glance of your eye.\n\"Ridiculous!\" murmurs the fair damsel in question.\n\nNot at all so: only you travel too fast; by which I mean you speak too\nhastily. You learn Italian, I dare say? Oh yes, of course, for you\nsing. Well then, _Ombra adorata_ that is \"beloved shadow;\" _aspetta_\nthat is, \"wait\"--\"wait, my beloved shadow\" (of a charming young lady),\ngive me breathing time, and I will explain myself. As you are an\nItalian student, I presume you have heard of the great Italian poet\nDante. Now Dante in his _Convito_ or \"Banquet\" tells his readers that\nwritings may be understood, and therefore ought to be explained in\nfour different senses or meanings. There is first the literal sense;\nsecondly, the allegorical; thirdly, the moral; and fourthly, the\n_anagorical_. Now I know you can't explain this last word to me, for I\nwould wager a large sum that you never tasted of Dante's Banquet--no,\nnot so much as the smallest crumb from it; and therefore how _should_\nyou know what he means by the anagorical sense? Give me leave to have\nthe honour of enlightening you, then. The anagorical is what the\ndictionaries call the _anagogical_ sense. A sense beyond this world; a\nsense above the senses; a spiritual sense making common things divine.\nIt is hard to be arrived at and difficult of comprehension. Now in the\nmatter of the nice little boy's question about the Giant and the\ncarraway seed, (for none but a nice little boy could have excogitated\nany thing so comical), I have set my heart upon talking to you about\nit in the four above mentioned senses. And having already descanted on\nthe _literal_ sense, I had just made an assertion which appertained to\nthe _allegorical_ sense, when you so inopportunely interrupted me, My\nOmbra Adorata, with your sharp observation about _non_sense: so now we\nwill go on in peace and quietness, if you please.\n\nIn an allegorical sense the world is full of giants who cannot see\ncarraway seeds.\n\nFor what are Giants but great men and great women? and the world\nabounds with people who consider themselves as belonging to that\nclass. And a great many of them--Giants of Cleverness, Giants of\nRiches, Giants of Rank--Giants of I know not how many things besides,\nwho are walking about the world every day, very often feel themselves\nto be quite raised above the point of attending to trifles; so that\nyou see I may (in an allegorical sense) say strictly of them that they\ncannot see carraway seeds. Oh my dears, however elevated you may be,\nor may become; however great or rich or learned, beware, I pray you,\nof being a Giant who cannot see a carraway seed!\n\nFor, as my explanation of the _moral_ sense now goes on to show you;\nit is so far from being, as these Giants suppose, a proof of their\n_superiority_ that they cannot see or notice things they consider\nbeneath them--that it is, in fact, an evidence of some imperfection or\ndefect in either their moral or intellectual structure. Just as it is\na proof of our eyes being imperfect, that we cannot see the little\nwater insects as well as a great big elephant. I am sure you will\nallow there is nothing _to boast of_ in this, and so if the\ncontemplation of great things makes you incapable of attending to\nsmall ones, do remember that _'tis nothing to boast about or be proud\nof_. And take very great care you make no mistakes as to what is great\nand what is insignificant. With which warning I close my remarks on\nthe moral lesson, and proceed to that _anagogical_ or spiritual\nmeaning, which will I hope be my justification for dwelling so long on\nthe subject, and my best introduction to a story of a serious though\nnot of a melancholy character. But first, my dear little readers, let\nme call upon you in the words which you hear in church:\n\n  \"Lift up your hearts!\"\n\nand I would have you answer,\n\n  \"We lift them up unto the Lord.\"\n\nFor it is indeed of Him--the Lord of all Lords, that I now wish to\nspeak to you. He made the Sun and Stars and the great mountains of our\nearth; but He made also the smallest insects that crowd the air and\nwater, and which are invisible to our imperfect eyes.\n\nHe rules the nations by His word, and \"binds kings in chains, and\nnobles with links of iron,\" as the psalm expresses it; but also not a\nsparrow falls to the ground without His knowledge and consent. Angels\nand Archangels worship around His throne, but His ears are equally\nopen to the prayer of the youngest child who lifts up its little heart\nto Him!\n\nThe universe is at His feet, but the smallest events of our lives are\nunder His especial superintendence and care. Yes! nothing, however\nsmall and insignificant, that is connected with the present or future\nwelfare of the smallest and most insignificant of his creatures, is\n_beneath the notice of God_!\n\nAh! here is indeed a lesson for the fancied Giants of the world!--For,\nin this picture of Almighty greatness combined with infinite\ncondescension, we see that real Perfection requires no Pride to\nelevate it.\n\nBut I said this anagogical sense was hard to be attained to and\ndifficult of comprehension.\n\nAnd is it not so? Is it not very difficult to believe thoroughly that\nthe great God whom we hear about, really and truly cares how we behave\nand what we do--really and truly listens to our prayers--really and\ntruly takes as much interest in us as our earthly Fathers and Mothers\ndo?\n\nAh, I am sure it must be very difficult, because so few people do it,\nalthough we should all be both better and happier if we did. We should\nsay our prayers so much more earnestly, try to keep out of sin and\nnaughtiness so much more heartily, and, above all, always be contented\nwith whatever happened; for who could be anxious, and discontented\nabout their condition or circumstances, if they _quite_ believed that\nevery thing that happened to them was watched over and arranged for\ntheir good, by the wisest, kindest, and most powerful of Beings? If\nyou, my dear children, who have been reading the fairy tales in this\nbook, were to be told that a most wise, most kind, and most powerful\nFairy had suddenly taken you for life under her particular care, and\nthat she would never lose sight of you by night or by day, how\ndelighted you would be!\n\nYet just so are you under the particular care and watchful concern of\nAlmighty God!\n\nBut now, say you, you begin to feel the difficulty of believing it\npossible that the great God of the Universe takes this tender interest\nin such insignificant and sinful creatures as men and women.\n\nConsider, then, that we are told that \"God is Love;\" and if He loves\nus, there is no difficulty in believing that He feels all this\ninterest in us. Do not judge Him by earthly Kings and Potentates.\nThese are Giants who cannot see carraway seeds. We do not blame them,\nfor it is impossible they should be interested for every body. But\nvery very different is both the power and the feeling of the King of\nKings!\n\nStill we have not got over the difficulty yet, for of all the\nwonderful truths we are commanded to believe, no one is so wonderful\nand so incomprehensible as _the Love of God_ to the sinful human race.\n\nAnd yet it is a truth, and of all truths the most important and most\ncomfortable; and therefore it is much to be desired that we should\nthoroughly believe it: and _I think_ I can make you understand that it\nis possible, _by something which you feel in your own hearts_. I think\nGod has placed even in our own hearts a witness of the possibility of\nthis great Truth.\n\nMy idea is this. We _know_ that God has been merciful to us--(His very\ncreation of man was an act of mercy), and _therefore_ we know that He\nloves us. _He loves us because He has been merciful to us_. If you\ncannot see why this should be, I refer you to the following story, and\nadvise you to _try for yourselves_. Only be kind to any living\ncreature, whether a human being, or an irrational animal, and see if\nyou can keep your heart from _loving_ it! Certainly it does not become\nus to try to search out the unsearchable mind of God, but I think it\nis permitted us to hope, that the remarkable fast of _Kindness\nengendering Love_, which we experience in our own hearts, is intended\nto lead us upwards as by a holy guiding thread, to some comprehension\nof the Love of that God, who in Christ Jesus actually _gave Himself\nfor us_.\n\n\nTHE TALE.\n\nLift up the curtain!\n\nIn a baronial hall, not of the size and grandeur of that at Warwick\nCastle, which those who have never seen should try to see before they\ndie: but still in a hall as antique and interesting in style, fits a\nyoung man reading.\n\nIt is evening, though the sun has not yet set, but it is evening, and\nthe young man is sitting at a small oak table in a recess in one of\nthe ancient windows, and before him lies open a book, and on the book,\nwhich he touches not with his hands, but on which his eyes, blinded by\ntears, are fixed, there lies a faded primrose.\n\nThe book is the Bible, and the faded primrose lies on that verse in\nthe Psalm, \"Oh that men would therefore praise the Lord for his\ngoodness, and declare the wonders that he doeth for the children of\nmen!\" and some hand had placed a slight pencil mark before these\nwords.\n\nThis scene brings before you a story of distress, and yet this young\nman is the possessor of a large estate;--the baronial hall and house\nare his own, and he is young and amiable, and till within the last few\nmonths had led a life of almost uninterrupted comfort and prosperity\nfrom his cradle upwards. Two years ago he became the betrothed lover\nof a young lady no less interesting than himself, and as no obstacle\nprevented their union, both had for these two years looked forward to\nit, as the one certain and sure event of their lives. The young man's\nparents had died when he was very young; but, in compliance with the\nwishes of his Guardians, he deferred his marriage till he should have\ncome of age.\n\nMeanwhile, as the time of probation drew near its close, it had been\nhis delight to sit up the old place in such a manner as should become\nhis bride, and the alterations had, in many cases, been made under her\neye and according to her wishes, for she was already by anticipation,\nand in the heart of its owner, the mistress of the place.\n\nAt last the wedding day was fixed; but a few weeks before the time\ncame, one of those sad diseases which steal mysteriously into the\nvitals of the young and wear away life long before its natural period,\nfell upon her:--and _now_, nothing remained to him, who had hoped to\nhave her as his companion through life, but the Bible she had used\nduring her sickness, and which was found on the table by her couch\nafter her death, open and marked at the very place I have told you\nabout; together with the faded primrose which he had gathered for her\non the last morning of her life.\n\nThis was a very sad event for those who were left behind to lament the\nloss of one whom they had loved so dearly. The Mother indeed, who had\nknown other trials of life, bent her head submissively to this one,\nand cherishing sweet recollections of her daughter's piety and\ngoodness, looked forward to a time of reunion in a happier world. But\nthe poor young man, whose name was Theodore, never having known a care\nor a sorrow before, was stupefied and overpowered by this sudden\ndestruction of all his hopes and happiness. Seeing, however, that\n_her_ last thought had been the mercy and goodness of God, he tried to\nmake it _his_ thought too; and he would sit for hours looking at the\nverse which she had marked in the Bible.\n\nBut unfortunately he made no effort besides, and having no kind\nrelatives or friends near him to rouse him from his melancholy stupor\nto some of the active duties of life, he spent many many weeks in\nlistless sorrow, not caring much what became either of himself, his\ndependents, or his property. And though he had become, by degrees, so\nfar resigned as to believe that every thing was for the best--even\n_her_ death--he now took up a strange and dismal fancy, that though\nthe Almighty was a God of goodness and justice, it was quite\nimpossible that He should _love_ any beings so sinful and ungrateful\nas the human race. This vain distinction of a morbid imagination was\nthe result of that solitude, inactivity, and the constantly dwelling\nupon himself and his own troubles, to which he had unfortunately given\nhimself up, and which had brought his mind into such an unhealthy\nstate, that he could neither reason nor think properly.\n\nIn this condition of feeling, having one day wandered to a\nconsiderable distance from home, he sat down on the greensward to\nrest; when lo! after he had remained there for some little time\nmusing, as usual, he saw approaching him two shining creatures, who\nlooked like spirits or angels, and as they came up to him they looked\nat him very earnestly, and one said to the other,\n\n\"He is doubting the goodness of God!?\"\n\nThen Theodore shuddered, and said, \"I am not! once perhaps I did, but\nnot now: all things happen for the best.\" Yet the Spirit repeated, \"He\nis doubting the goodness of God!\" Theodore shuddered again, and cried\nout \"I am _not!_\" for he felt as if it was a heavy accusation.\nWhereupon the Spirit continued, \"To disbelieve the love of God is to\ndoubt His goodness.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" exclaimed Theodore eagerly, \"it is not! I do not doubt His\ngoodness--His compassion even for the wretched creatures whom He\nformed out of dust. But I--thoughtless in my youth; self-confident in\nprosperity; ungrateful and rebellious under affliction; how can such a\nwretch as _I_ have been, believe in the _love_ of God to me! God is\ngood and just, but do not talk to me of His Love to man, as if it were\npossible He could feel for them the tenderness of kind affection! Who\nare you?\"\n\nWithout noticing this question, the Spirit repeated, in emphatic\ntones, \"To disbelieve the Love of God is to doubt His goodness, and\ndeny the perfection of His nature!\"\n\n\"I tell you, No!\" shouted Theodore, wildly: \"It is _because_ of His\ngoodness and _because_ of the perfection of His nature, that I\ndisbelieve the possibility of His Love to the wretched race of man!\"\n\n\"Judge by your own heart!\" exclaimed the Spirit who had not yet\nspoken.\n\nBut when Theodore raised his eyes to look upon her, both had\ndisappeared. He felt grieved, he knew not why. \"_My own heart!_\" he\nmurmured; \"ah! my own heart has been the witness against me. It has\ntaught me the dreadful truth.\"\n\n\"Truth never yet was found of him who leads a life of selfish misery,\"\nwhispered a soft voice receding into the distance; \"Theodore! Judge by\nyour own heart. Even it may teach you better things!\"\n\nTheodore started up and looked hastily around. He felt as if he could\nhave followed that soft receding voice into eternity. But there was no\none near. That sound, however, had been like an echo from hopes buried\nin the grave; and the poor youth sank to the ground on his knees, and,\nhiding his face in his hands, wept bitterly. Suddenly one thought took\npossession of him out of what had been said. And it was one (as usual)\nof self-reproach. The Spirit had reproached him with leading a life of\nselfish misery! Vividly impressed by this idea, he started off\nhurriedly for his home, crying aloud--\"Oh, the wasted time; the lost\nhours; the precious moments that might have been employed in\nusefulness!\" And thus he pursued his way till he had left the outer\ncountry behind him, and had entered the gates that bounded his\nextensive domain when, all at once, his course was stopped by\nsomething he struck against as he was walking quickly along.\n\nLooking down, he perceived that a sickly, hungry-looking child was\nstretched across the road asleep, and that by its side sat a woman,\nthe picture of misery and want. Theodore felt a strong sensation of\ncompassion seize him as he gazed at the child, and he stooped and\nlifted it from the ground.\n\nThe woman observed Theodore's eye, and said, \"Ay, without help we\nshall neither of us be here long!\"\n\n\"I will help you,\" said Theodore, \"tell me what I can do!\"\n\n\"What can you or any one do, for a dying woman and a half-starved\nchild?\" groaned the poor creature. \"Food, food! medicine and help!\"\nThese words burst from her in broken accents--I am dying!\"\n\n\"Are you so _very_ ill?\" asked Theodore, turning deadly pale; and he\nmurmured to himself--\"Death again! I dare not see it again so soon!\nHere!\" continued he, thrusting gold into her hand, \"now you see that I\nwill help you! Look, I will send you food, and you shall be brought\nto the house: but let me take the child, he cannot do you good, and I\nwill see to him.\" \"He must not see her die;\" was Theodore's inward\nthought.\n\n\"Ay, take him,\" muttered the woman gloomily, \"and send me cordials. No\none wants to go even an hour before their time!\"\n\nTheodore obeyed almost mechanically, and lifting up the little boy, he\nmade a shift to carry him to the house. On arriving there, he called\nfor his housekeeper and desired her to take food and wine to the woman\nhe had left, and to bring her to the house. Then he sent another\nservant for a doctor, and afterwards undertook himself the care of the\nforlorn child. He placed him on a sofa in his study and sat down by\nhim.\n\n\"Are you ill?\" was his first question.\n\n\"I don't know,\" was the answer.\n\n\"Are you hungry?\"\n\n\"Very!\"\n\nHere Theodore got up and went to the next room, where preparations\nwere being made for dinner, and fetched bread and gave it to the boy,\nwho ate it greedily, without once lifting up his eyes. \"Poor child,\"\nthought Theodore, \"life has no _mental_ troubles for him!\"\n\n\"Are you sorry your mother is so ill?\" was his next inquiry.\n\n\"She's not my mother,\" muttered the boy.\n\nTheodore started--\"What do you mean? Are you not that woman's\n_child_?\"\n\n\"No! She told me I wasn't.\"\n\n\"Who are you, then?\"\n\n\"I don't know. She told me she had stolen me to beg for her.\"\n\n\"And do you remember nothing about it?\"\n\n\"No, its too long ago.\"\n\nTheodore now fetched him more bread, but whilst he was eating it he no\nlonger sat by him, but walked up and down the room. Every now and then\nas he stopped and looked at the thin, sickly looking object he had\nbrought into the house, he was overtaken by a strong feeling of pity\nfor his miserable condition.\n\nThis child was as desolate as himself, only in another way. Stolen\nfrom his parents to beg for the strange woman, he had lived with her\nso long that he had forgotten his real home altogether! Bound by no\nties of kindred and comfort to this world. \"He is more desolate than I\nam myself!\" repeated Theodore, again and again.\n\nAfter a time he approached the boy again.\n\n\"The woman will say you are her child, and make you go back and beg\nfor her if she gets better, will she not?\"\n\n\"She doesn't want me now.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"She says, I'm too hungry, and eat all the bread away from her, and\ndon't get enough for us both.\"\n\nA curious expression passed across Theodore's face as he turned away\nand sat down in his chair once more. It looked like a gleam of\nsatisfaction. The boy, meanwhile, sat quite still, looking round the\nroom. He had a grave and somewhat interesting face, but that the dark\neyes looked a little too keen and restless to be quite pleasant.\nStill, when he smiled, and he had smiled brightly when he first saw\nthe bread, his countenance improved; and there was, besides, something\nabout his open forehead which redeemed the covert expression of his\neye. He was about seven years old, and precocious in quickness of a\nparticular kind, as is very often the case with vagrant children.\n\nTheodore's reverie was broken at last by the arrival of his good old\nhousekeeper, who came in, flurried and indignant, to inform him that\nthe woman she had been in search of was no where to be found. She had\nbeen, \"she was sure,\" up and down all the carriage roads, and made\nenquiries at all the lodges, and finally discovered that a beggar\nwoman had passed out at one of them upwards of an hour before, very\nhurriedly, and indeed almost at a running pace.\n\nTheodore glanced at the child, but his countenance never changed. Only\nhe sat eying the housekeeper as she spoke, apparently indifferent to\nthe result. The housekeeper now began to ejaculate in broken\nsentences, \"The base creature! To think that you should have taken all\nthis trouble, Sir! and had the child actually into the house!\nand--gracious me,\" added she in a half whisper, \"hadn't I better call\nthe butler, Sir; hadn't he\" (nodding significantly towards the child)\n\"better be taken to the workhouse at once, Sir?\"\n\n\"I think not,\" answered Theodore slowly--\"not yet, I think. The truth\nis, I find he's not her own child, but has been stolen; and--and--in\nfact, we can send him to the workhouse to-morrow. Perhaps, after all,\nthe woman may come here for him. But, at any rate, there is time\nenough. You see this is an odd affair; and, as the boy is not _hers_,\nwe don't know who he may not turn out to be some day.\" And, as\nTheodore thus concluded his sentence, he got up and looked at the old\nhousekeeper with a smile--a melancholy one it is true, but still it\nwas a smile--the first that had been seen on his face since his\nterrible bereavement.\n\nAnd the faithful servant was so much pleased that she forgot every\nthing else in a desire to keep up the interest that had lured her\nyoung master so unaccountably from his misery.\n\n\"Well, to be sure, Sir, what you say's quite right, and we can make\nthe poor thing comfortable for to-night, and then you can do as you\nplease to-morrow. Shall I take him with me, Sir, and make him clean,\nwhile you dine? I can borrow some tidy clothes from the bailiff's\nwife, I dare say; and after he's made respectable, you can see him\nagain, Sir, if you think proper.\"\n\nThis proposition was more grateful to Theodore's mind than he cared to\nacknowledge to himself. Indeed he had no clear ideas of his feelings\nabout the little accident that had interrupted the dismal course of\nhis life; and he studiously avoided questioning himself too closely.\nOnly there came across him, every now and then, a sensation that there\nwas some special providence about it all, and that there was some\nmysterious connection between this adventure and the words of the\napparitions who had spoken to him in the morning.\n\nBut \"let be, let us see what will happen,\" was the ruling feeling, and\nas he felt less miserable than usual, he did not wish to disturb the\npleasing dream by enquiries, why?\n\nAfter his solitary dinner, as he was seated alone in his arm chair, he\nwas relapsing fast into his usual unhappy state of mind, for this was\nat all times the most trying part of the day to him, when a knock at\nthe door aroused him.\n\nAh, it was the good old housekeeper again! She who, with the acute\ninstinct of sorrow-soothing which women so eminently possess, had\npurposely come at this the young master's \"dark hour,\" to try if it\ncould be kept back by the charm she had seen working a short time\nbefore. \"The little fellow is quite fit to come in now, Sir, if you'd\nwish to see him before he's put to bed.\" And her efforts were rewarded\nby seeing a look of interest light up poor Theodore's eye. The boy was\nnow ushered in, and his improved appearance and cleanliness were very\nstriking. Theodore took hold of his hand--\"There, you need not be\nafraid; you may sit down upon that chair. Are you comfortable?\" \"Yes.\"\n\"Have you had plenty to eat?\" \"Yes, plenty.\" And the child laughed a\nlittle.\n\n\"I hope you are a good boy.\"\n\nHe looked stupid. \"Can you say your prayers?\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"Ah! I was afraid not. You never heard about God?\" \"Yes; but the woman\nused to keep that to herself.\" \"Keep what?\"\n\n\"Why,\" _for God's sake_, when she begged. She didn't let me say it, but\nshe always said it herself; and then, when people wouldn't give us any\nthing, she used to say--\"\n\n\"No, no! I will not hear about that;\" interrupted Theodore, \"but I\nhope some day you will learn about God.\"\n\n\"In the begging? must I say it in the begging next time?\"\n\n\"No, I don't mean that; not in begging bread of people in the road,\nbut in praying.\"\n\n\"What's that?\" \"Begging.\" \"Then I am to beg?\" \"No, not on the road,\nbut of a great good Being, who will never refuse what you ask.\"\n\n\"Is that _you_?\"\n\n\"No, my poor boy; not me, but the great Being, called God, who lives\nin the sky. You must beg all you want of Him.\"\n\n\"I don't know Him.\"\n\n\"No; but you will learn to know Him when you have listened to me and\nprayed to Him.\"\n\n\"I don't know praying; I know begging.\"\n\n\"Well, then, when you have begged Him--\"\n\n\"What am I to say?\"\n\n\"First, you must say, 'Our Father--'\"\n\n\"Father's dead,\" interrupted the boy;\n\n\"Ah, but I do not mean _that_ father,\" answered Theodore; \"and how do\nyou know even that _that_ father is dead?\"\n\n\"The woman said so. One day she told me Father and Mother were both\ndead, and there was nobody left to love me, so I must mind her.\"\n\n\"The woman was wrong,\" cried Theodore compassionately. \"You have\nanother Father, who never dies, and who loves you always!--\"\n\nA knock at the door interrupted Theodore's _lesson on the Love of\nGod_.\n\n\"It's about time the poor thing was put to bed,\" suggested the\nhousekeeper, looking in. \"I dare say he's tired.\"\n\n\"I dare say he is,\" said Theodore mechanically. \"Good night, little\nboy. What used they to call you?\"\n\n\"Reuben.\"\n\n\"Good night, little Reuben.\" And he was taken away.\n\n_You have another Father who never dies and who loves you always_!\nfounded like an echo through the room. Theodore arose and looked\naround, but there was no one there. He resumed his feat, and wondered\nhow he had got involved in teaching the beggar boy religion. He\nlamented his awkwardness and unfitness for the talk; but still he\nthought he had done right. As to his last assertion, how else could he\nmake the child comprehend God at all? Besides, how cruel it would be\nto infect him with his own miserable convictions. They would come time\nenough, perhaps!\n\nSuch was the current of his thoughts. The next morning he told the old\nhousekeeper of the boy's ignorance and his difficulty with him, and\nengaged her to help him in his talk, which she readily undertook.\n\nIt is not my intention to describe the many endeavours Theodore made\nto impress the first great truths of Christianity upon Reuben's mind;\nbut I can assure you he felt all the better for them himself. How it\nwas that he never sent the little boy to the workhouse you can guess.\nFor the first few days he kept him to see (as he said), if the woman\nwould come back for him. Then he wished him to stay till he and the\nhousekeeper had sufficiently impressed him by their lessons. And\nthen--why then--by degrees, all mention of the workhouse ceased, and\nbetter clothes were bought for him; and the housekeeper, who was one\nof the by-gone generation of warm-hearted old family servants, became,\nfor her master's sake, a perfect mother to him; and to Theodore he\ninvoluntarily proved an object of daily increasing interest, and\nfinally, of strong personal affection.\n\nAnd thus nearly a year passed over, during which time Theodore's\nhealth and activity in a measure returned; but the cheerfulness of a\nhappy mind was still wanting. Reuben often lured him temporarily into\nit, but he would again relapse, and had never given up his unhappy\ntheory, though now he dwelt upon it much less frequently than of old.\nAt the end of the year, however, Theodore was much distressed by\nfancying that he detected Reuben in lying; and he was, besides, by no\nmeans sure that little trifles were not taken from him by the child\nfor his own use and amusement. He communicated his suspicions to the\nhousekeeper, and alas! found his worst fears confirmed. The pain and\nsorrow he felt at this discovery were of a kind totally new to him.\nBut the strongest feeling of all was, that he would not give up the\nboy to vicious habits without a struggle (cost what it might) to save\nhim! The housekeeper told him, with tears, that she had observed\nReuben's habit of petty lying and taking any thing he fancied, very\nsoon after his admission to the house; but she confessed that she had\nnot had the heart to inform her young Master, lest he should send the\nboy away who had seemed to take him so out of his trouble! This was\nwhat she most thought about. So she had tried to correct the child\nherself, but not with the success she had desired. \"How little she\nknows the heart,\" thought Theodore, \"his evil propensities would have\nbeen an additional claim upon my kindness!\"\n\nI will pass over all that Theodore said to the boy himself. No father\ncould have been more earnest, more solemn in his warnings, or more\nkind in his expostulations. Reuben, by this time, could understand all\nhe said, and shame and repentance burnt in his face during a painful\ninterview. It is right to remind you, dear children, of the many\nexcuses that were to be made for him. He had been brought up, till\nseven years old, in total ignorance of God, and without ever having\nheard one duty commanded or one sin forbidden. The woman lied daily\nand hourly in his sight, and made him do the same; and she took all\nshe could lay hold of in any way, and beat him if he did not follow\nher example; and although Theodore's instructions had opened a new\nworld on the child's mind, the _evil_ HABITS were not so soon got rid\nof. So there the mischief was; and now the great difficulty Theodore\nfelt, was to know what to do for the best. And, after much\nconsideration, he decided to send him to school, as the likeliest\nmeans of eradicating the bad habits the boy had acquired. I say\n_habits_, rather than dispositions, for there was indeed nothing mean\nor sneaking about his character. On the contrary, he was both\ncourageous and generous in the turn of his mind, and, after his health\nimproved, his manners partook of the same freedom and candour.\n\nTo school therefore poor Reuben went; and Theodore was almost\nastonished himself at the blank which his absence created.\n\nBut having desired that continued reports should be sent to him of his\nconduct, he meanwhile began seriously to think what was to become of\nhim hereafter. At last it occurred to him that he might employ him in\nsome way or other about his property; and with a view to this,\nTheodore himself began to take more interest in his estate than he had\nhad the energy to bestow before, and made himself more intimately\nacquainted with the wants and modes of life of those under his\ncontrol.\n\nThus another year passed away in quiet but constant occupation; and\nthe many opportunities Theodore now had of doing good, softened and\ncheered his mind. But he was not quite cured. For of all things in the\nworld whims are the very hardest to cure, because, reason as you will,\npeople still stick to their whims. Reuben was not allowed to return\nonce during that year to the old hall. During the last few months,\nhowever, his progress had been most satisfactory, and the Master\nconsidered that the evil was overcome; and so, at the end of the year,\nTheodore wrote word to Reuben that he wished him to come \"home\" for\nhis holidays. Poor Reuben cried bitterly again when he read the\nletter; for, as he said to the Master, \"It is _not_ my home, though he\nhas been very good to me. I have no home!\"\n\nTheodore's heart overflowed with pleasure and almost pride when he saw\nthe boy again. Every turn in the expression of his face was improved;\nand when Theodore first took his hand, the lad bent his face over it\nand sobbed out an entreaty for pardon for his dreadful wickedness.\n\"Reuben,\" cried Theodore, \"never say that again. All is forgotten\nsince your conduct is changed. Forget the past as soon as possible. It\nwill never be remembered by me.\"\n\nTime went on during the holidays very happily on the whole. In fact\nthere was no drawback; but that now and then Theodore, who would often\nsit looking at his adopted child's face, noticed a painful expression\nwhich he could not account for. His conduct was irreproachable and his\nrespect for Theodore seemed, if possible, increased; but he would not\nbe frank with him, and no encouragement beguiled him into the ease of\ntrusted affection. Theodore did not choose to notice this for some\nweeks, but, as the time of Reuben's return to school drew near, he was\nunwilling to let him go without some expostulation.\n\n\"Reuben,\" said he one day, \"you are going back to school. Your conduct\nhas quite satisfied me: but tell me, before you go, why you so often\nlook unhappy? It is a poor return (though I now touch on this subject\nfor the first time in my life), it is a poor return for the interest I\nhave taken in you; and for the real love you know I feel towards you!\"\n\nFor a moment Reuben's large dark eyes glanced up at Theodore's face;\nbut they sank again as quickly: his cheeks grew crimson, and tears\nrolled over them which he could not conceal.\n\n\"What is the matter, Reuben; what is the meaning of this? Am I loving\none who does not love me in return?\"\n\n\"You _cannot_ love me, Sir!\" ejaculated the boy so earnestly that it\nquite startled his companion.\n\n\"Reuben, what _can_ you mean? Have you forgotten how I have taken you\nand acted by you as if I had been your Father. I _cannot love_ you?\nWhat else but _love_ for you has made me do what I have done?\"\n\n\"That was all your goodness and the kindness of your heart, Sir. You\ncouldn't love me when you picked me up in the road. It was pity and\nkindness, and it has been the same ever since; not _Love_--\" and the\ntears again struggled to his eyes.\n\nTheodore rushed suddenly from the room and into his private apartment,\nand falling on his knees, spread his hands over his head in prayer.\n\"My Lord and my God!\" cried he solemnly, \"what means this echo from my\nown heart? Am I awake, or do I dream?\" A profound silence was around\nhim; but, as he arose and opened his eyes, he beheld before him,\nthough fading rapidly from his sight, the angelic visions he had seen\ntwo years before.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe returned to Reuben, who was sitting at the table, his face buried\nin his arms.\n\nTheodore laid his hand upon him. \"Reuben, look up! You are under a\ngreat mistake. You are but a boy, and must not fancy you know the ins\nand outs of the human heart. Reuben, I do love you, and have always\nloved you.\"\n\n\"You cannot, Sir!\"\n\n\"Again? and why not?\"\n\n\"You are too much above me; I am an outcast, and was a beggar. It\nwasn't likely you could _love_ me at any time. Besides, there has been\nsomething since.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"You told me to forget it, Sir, but I cannot. After all your kindness\nand goodness, and trying to make me happy and do me every good, I was\nall along (during the first year), doing what was wrong, deceiving you\nand injuring you. I am not only an outcast, but I have been wicked and\nungrateful, and made you unhappy by my misconduct. Indeed I cannot\nbear to think of it; but I dare not deceive myself about your _Love_,\nSir! I know you _cannot_ love me; but I am so grateful to you for your\ngoodness, I hope you will not be angry with me for speaking the truth:\nonly, though I am grateful and try to be contented, I cannot be as\n_happy_ as if you _did_ love me.\"\n\nAs Theodore gazed on poor Reuben's face, he saw standing behind him\nthe beautiful visions once more.\n\n\"Now judge by your own heart!\" murmured the Spirits, as smiling they\ndisappeared.\n\nAnd Theodore did so. Going up to Reuben, he put his arms around him,\nand wept over him tears of love and gratitude for the blessing which\nhe felt stealing into his own mind. \"Reuben,\" cried he, \"my child\nReuben! There have been but two human beings in the world on whom I\nhave bestowed my love; for, like you, I lost my parents young. These\ntwo were--her I lost and yourself!\"\n\n\"If I thought you _loved_ me, I would die for you!\" cried Reuben,\nspringing up and gazing earnestly on Theodore's face.\n\n\"My God!\" murmured Theodore, \"may I be able to feel this to Thee!\"\n\n       *        *        *        *        *\n\nI think more words are unnecessary. You cannot doubt that Theodore\nsoon convinced Reuben of his love, nor that Theodore took the lesson\nto himself, and now saw that God had placed in the human heart a\nwitness of the possibility of His love to man. Yes, the clinging\naffection we feel for those we have been kind to; our own power of\nforgiving _any_ thing to them; is an instinct which has been\nmercifully implanted in our hearts to teach us to believe in that Love\nof God, which is otherwise so incredible to human reason.\n\nIf you care to know what became of Theodore and Reuben, you must in\nfancy pass over a few years. Reuben soon had so strong a wish to go to\nsea, that he entered the merchant service; and by the time he became\nMaster of his own vessel and revisited the hall when he came ashore,\nTheodore was to be found there with a kind and gentle wife by his\nside; and frolicking about the ancient hall were a parcel of noisy\nchildren, to whom the arrival from sea of him whom they always\nunaccountably would call \"Uncle Reuben,\" was ever a gala treat. Dear\nreaders, Farewell!\n\nBENEDICITE.","title":"The Fairy Godmothers and Other Tales","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":38843}