{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_27321/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_27321","id":"gutenberg_27321","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/27321","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Fairy tales"],"text":"Produced by David Edwards, Sam W. and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was\nproduced from scanned images of public domain material\nfrom the Google Print project.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n            LITTLE PRUDY SERIES.\n\n\n                 FAIRY BOOK.\n\n                     BY\n\n                 SOPHIE MAY.\n\n\n                  BOSTON:\n              LEE AND SHEPARD,\n  (SUCCESSORS TO PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, & CO.)\n                   1866.\n\n\n\n\n  Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by\n                         LEE & SHEPARD,\n  In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District\n                       of Massachusetts.\n\n\n\n\n    [Illustration: CRISTOBAL. Page 32.]\n\n\n\n\n         THIS\n  BOOK OF FAIRY TALES\n     IS DEDICATED\n   TO LITTLE BESSIE.\n\n\n\n\nLITTLE PRUDY SERIES.\n\nBY SOPHIE MAY.\n\n\n    I.\n    LITTLE PRUDY.\n\n    II.\n    LITTLE PRUDY'S SISTER SUSY.\n\n    III.\n    LITTLE PRUDY'S CAPTAIN HORACE.\n\n    IV.\n    LITTLE PRUDY'S COUSIN GRACIE.\n\n    V.\n    LITTLE PRUDY'S STORY BOOK.\n\n    VI.\n    LITTLE PRUDY'S DOTTY DIMPLE.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n                                      PAGE\n    INTRODUCTION                         9\n\n    CRISTOBAL                           19\n\n    WILD ROBIN                          35\n\n    THE VESPER STAR                     53\n\n    THE WATER-KELPIE                    59\n\n    THE LOST SYLPHID                    74\n\n    THE CASTLE OF GEMS                 100\n\n    THE ELF OF LIGHT                   117\n\n    THE PRINCESS HILDA                 137\n\n    GOLDILOCKS                         160\n\n\n\n\nFAIRY BOOK.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nWhile Prudy was in Indiana visiting the Cliffords, and in the midst of\nher trials with mosquitoes, she said one day,--\n\n\"I wouldn't cry, Aunt 'Ria, only my heart's breaking. The very next\nperson that ever dies, I wish they'd ask God to please stop sending\nthese awful skeeters. I can't bear 'em any longer, now, certainly.\"\n\nThere was a look of utter despair on Prudy's disfigured face. Bitter\ntears were trickling from the two white puff-balls which had been her\neyes; her forehead and cheeks were of a flaming pink, broken into\nlittle snow-drifts full of stings: she looked as if she had just been\nrescued from an angry beehive. Altogether, her appearance was\nexceedingly droll; yet Grace would not allow herself to smile at her\nafflicted little cousin. \"Strange,\" said she, \"what makes our\nmosquitoes so impolite to strangers! It's a downright shame, isn't it,\nma, to have little Prudy so imposed upon? If I could only amuse her,\nand make her forget it!\"\n\n\"Oh, mamma,\" Grace broke forth again suddenly, \"I have an idea, a very\nbrilliant idea! Please listen, and pay particular attention; for I\nshall speak _in a figure_, as Robin says. There's a certain small\nindividual who is not to understand.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't risk that style of talking,\" said Mrs. Clifford, smiling;\n\"or, if you do, your figures of speech must be _very_ obscure,\nremember.\"\n\n\"Well, ma,\" continued Grace with a significant glance at Prudy, \"what\nI was going to say is this: We wish to treat certain young relatives\nof ours very kindly; don't we, now?--certain afflicted and abused\nyoung relatives, you know.\n\n\"Now, I've thought of an entertainment. Ahem! Yesterday I entered a\ncertain Englishman's house,\"--here Grace pointed through the window\ntowards Mr. Sherwood's cottage, lest her mother should, by chance,\nlose her meaning,--\"I entered a certain Englishman's house just as the\nfamily were sitting down to the table,--_festal board_, I mean.\n\n\"They were talking about mistle-toe boughs, and all sorts of old-country\ncustoms; and then they said what a funny time they had one Christmas,\nwith the youngest, about the _mizzle_, as he called it: do you remember,\nma? do you understand?\"\n\n\"You mean little Harvey? Oh, yes.\"\n\n\"Pray do be careful, ma! Then Mr. Sherwood said to his--I mean, the _hat_\nsaid to the _bonnet_, that there were some wonderful--ahem--legends,\nabout genii and sprites and--and so forth; not printed, but _written_,\nwhich the boy liked to hear when he was 'overgetting' the measles. A\ncertain lady, not three inches from your chair, ma, was the one who wrote\nthem; and now\"--\n\nPrudy had turned about, and the only remnants of her face which looked\nat all natural--that is, the irises and pupils of her swollen\neyes--were shining with curiosity.\n\n\"There, now, what is it, Gracie? what is it you don't want me to\nhear?\"\n\nGrace laughed. \"Oh, nothing much, dear: never mind.\"\n\n\"You oughtn't to say 'Never mind,'\" pursued Prudy: \"my mother tells me\n_always_ to mind.\"\n\n\"I only mean it isn't any matter, Prudy.\"\n\n\"Oh! do you? Then don't you care for my skeeter-bites? You always say,\n'Never mind!' I didn't know it wasn't _any matter_.\"\n\n\"Now, ma,\" Grace went on, \"I want to ask you where are those\nI-don't-know-what-to-call-'ems? And may I copy them, Cassy and I, into\na book, for a certain afflicted relative?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, on gold-edged paper!\" cried Prudy, springing up from the\nsofa; \"oh, do, do; I'll love you dearly if you will! Fairy stories are\njust as nice! What little Harvey Sherwood likes, _I_ like, and I've\nhad the measles; _but_ I shouldn't think his father and mother'd wear\ntheir hat and bonnet to the dinner-table!\"\n\n\"Deary me!\" laughed Grace; \"how happened that little thing to mistrust\nwhat I meant?\"\n\n\"It would be strange if a child of her age, of ordinary abilities,\nshould _not_ understand,\" remarked Mrs. Clifford, somewhat amused.\n\"Next time you wish to ask me any thing confidentially, I advise you\nto choose a better opportunity.\"\n\n\"When may she, Aunt 'Ria?\" cried Prudy, entirely forgetting her\ntroubles; \"when may she write it, Aunt 'Ria, she and Cassy?\"\n\n\"A pretty piece of folly it would be, wouldn't it, dear, when you\ncan't read a word of writing?\"\n\n\"But Susy can a little, auntie; and mother can a great deal: and I'll\nnever tease 'em, only nights when I go to bed, and days when I don't\nfeel well. Please, Aunt 'Ria.\"\n\n\"Yes, ma, I know you can't refuse,\" said Grace.\n\nMrs. Clifford hesitated. \"The stories are yellow with age, Grace;\nthey were written in my girlhood: and they are rather torn and\ndisarranged, if I remember. Besides, my child, my flowing hand is\ndifficult to read.\"\n\n\"Oh, mamma, I think you write beautifully! splendidly!\"\n\n\"Another objection,\" continued Mrs. Clifford: \"they are rather too old\nfor Prudy, I should judge.\"\n\n\"But I keep a-growing, Aunt 'Ria! Don't you s'pose I know what fairy\nstories mean? They don't mean any thing! You didn't feel afraid I'd\nbelieve 'em, did you? I wouldn't believe 'em, I _promise_ I wouldn't;\njust as true's I'm walking on this floor!\"\n\n\"Indeed, I hope you would not, little Prudy; for I made them up as I\nwent along. There are no fairies but those we have in our hearts. Our\nbest thoughts are good fairies; and our worst thoughts are evil\nfairies.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, auntie, I know! When we go bathing in the ocean, Susy says,\n'Let's be all clean, so the spirit of the water can enter our hearts.'\nAnd it does; but it goes in by our noses.\"\n\nMrs. Clifford had tacitly given her consent to Grace's copying the\nstories. This task was performed accordingly, much to the disgust of\nHorace, who declared that of the whole number only the tale of \"Wild\nRobin\" was worth reading.\n\n\"And 'Wild Robin,'\" said Grace, instructively, \"is the only one that\nhas a moral for you, Horace. When our soldiers are starving so, it is\nreally dreadful to see how you dislike corned beef and despise\nvegetables! Such a dainty boy as you needs to be stolen a while by the\nfairies.\"\n\n\"Well, Gracie, I reckon you'd run double-quick to pull me off the\nmilk-white steed. You couldn't get along without me two days. Look\nhere! what story has a moral for you, miss? It's the 'Water-kelpie.'\nYou are like the man that married Moneta: you're always wanting\nmoney.\"\n\n\"But it's for the soldiers, Horace,\" said Grace, with a smile of\nforbearance toward her brother. \"I'm willing to give all my\npocket-money; and I mean the other girls shall. If we're stingy to our\ncountry these days, we ought to be shot! 'Princess Hilda's' the best\nstory in the book. I wish Isa Harrington could read it! She wouldn't\nmake any more mischief between Cassy and me!\"\n\n\"I like 'The Lost Sylphid' the best,\" said Prudy; \"but _was_ she a\ngreat butterfly, do you s'pose? The stories are all just as nice; just\nlike book stories. I shouldn't think anybody made 'em up. Aunt 'Ria\ncan write as good as the big girls to the grammar-school. I promised\nnot to believe a single word; and I sha'n't. I'm glad she called it\n_my_ Fairy Book.\"\n\n\n\n\nCRISTOBAL.\n\nA CHRISTMAS LEGEND.\n\n\nLong ago, in fair Burgundy, lived a lad named Cristobal. His large\ndark eyes lay under the fringe of his lids, full of shadows; eyes as\nlustrous as purple amethysts, and, alas! as sightless.\n\nHe had not always been blind, as perhaps a wild and passionate lad,\nnamed Jasper, might have told you. On a certain Christmas Eve, a merry\nboy was little Cristobal, as he pattered along to church, trying with\nhis wooden shoes to keep time to the dancing bells. In his hand he\ncarried a Christmas candle of various colors. Never, he thought, was\na rainbow so exquisitely tinted as that candle. Carefully he watched\nit when it winked its sleepy eye, eagerly begging his mamma to snuff\nit awake again. How gayly the streets twinkled with midnight lanterns!\nAnd how mortifying to the stars to be outdone by such a grand\nillumination!\n\nA new painting had just been hung in the church,--the Holy Child,\ncalled by the people \"Little Jesus,\" with an aureola about his head.\nCristobal looked at this picture with reverent delight; and, to his\nsurprise, the Holy Child returned his gaze: wherever he went, the\nsweet, sorrowful eyes followed him. There was a wondrous charm in that\npleading glance. Why was it so wistful? What had those deep eyes to\nsay?\n\nThe air was cloudy with the breath of frankincense and myrrh. Deep\nvoices and the heavy organ sounded chants and anthems. There were\nprayers to the coming Messiah, and the sprinkling of holy water; and,\nat last, the midnight mass was ended.\n\nThen, in tumult and great haste, the people went home for\nmerry-makings. Cristobal, eager to see what the Yule-log might have in\nstore for him, rushed out of the church with careless speed, stumbling\nover a boy who stood in his way,--the haughty, insolent Jasper.\nJasper's beautiful Christmas-candle was cracked in twenty pieces by\nhis fall.\n\n\"I'll teach you better manners, young peasant!\" cried he, rushing upon\nCristobal in a frenzy, and dealing fierce blows without mercy or\nreason.\n\nIt was then that Cristobal's eyes went out like falling stars. Their\nlustre and beauty remained; but they were empty caskets, their vision\ngone.\n\nThen followed terrible anguish; and all Cristobal's mother could do\nwas to hold her boy in her arms, and soothe him by singing. At last\nthe fever was spent; but the pain still throbbed on, and sometimes\nseemed to burn into Cristobal's brain. He cried out again and again,\n\"What right had that fierce Jasper to spring upon me so? I meant him\nno harm; and he knew it. Oh, I would like to see him chained in a den!\nHe is like the wicked people who are turned into wolves at\nChristmas-tide. I would cry for joy if I could hear him groan with\nsuch pain as mine!\"\n\nPoor Cristobal never hoped to see again. He carried in his mind\npictures of cities and hamlets, of trees, flowers, and old familiar\nfaces; but oftenest came Jasper's face, just as it had last glared on\nhim with blood-thirsty eyes. It was a terrible countenance. Only one\ncharm could dispel the horror,--the remembrance of the beautiful Child\nin the church. That picture blotted out every thing else. It was like\nthe refrain in the Burgundy carols, \"Noel, Noel,\" which comes again\nand again, and never tires of coming.\n\nA whole year passed away. Cristobal's mother only prayed now that her\nboy might suffer less: she had ceased to pray for the healing of his\nblindness.\n\nNow it was Christmas-tide again. Ever since Advent, people had been\nclearing their throats, and singing carols. They roasted chestnuts,\ndrank white wine, and chanted praises of the \"Little Jesus,\" who was\nsoon to come, bringing peace on earth, good-will to men.\n\nIn the streets, one heard bagpipes and minstrels; and, by the\nhearthstones, the music of the wandering piper. The children began to\ntalk again of the Yule-log, and to wonder what gifts Noel would bring\nto place under each end of it; for these little folks, who have no\nstocking-saint like our Santa Claus, believe in another quite as good,\nwho rains down sugar-plums in the night.\n\nEverywhere there was a joyful bustle. Housewives were making ready\ntheir choicest dishes for the great Christmas-supper; fathers were\nslyly peeping into shop-windows, and children hoarding their sous and\ncentimes for bonbons and comfits.\n\nEverybody was merry but Cristobal; or so thought the lad. He had no\nmoney to spend, and little but pain for his holiday-cheer. A patch\nhere and there in his worn clothes was the best present his thrifty\nmother was able to make; always excepting the little variegated taper,\nwhich few were too poor to buy.\n\nChristmas Eve came. Family friends dropped in. The Yule-log was set\non the fire with shouts and singing. \"Oh that I could see these kind\nfaces!\" moaned Cristobal. \"No doubt, Jasper's chestnuts are popping\nmerrily; and his shoes will be full of presents. And here am I! My\nhead aches, and my eye-balls burn.\"\n\nHe stole out of the room, and, throwing himself on a wicker bench,\nmused over his troubles in solitude. One might have supposed him\nsleeping; for how should one imagine that his beautiful eyes were of\nno manner of use, except when they were closed? When Cristobal said,\n\"Let me see,\" he dropped his eye-lids; and what he saw then, no artist\ncan paint.\n\nOn this night, a beautiful child appeared before him, as like the\npicture of the Little Jesus as if it had stepped out of its frame on\nthe church-wall. Even the crimson and blue tints of the old painting\nwere faithfully preserved; and every fold of the soft drapery was the\nvery same.\n\n\"I saw you, Cristobal, when you came before me with your colored\ncandle, one year ago.\"\n\n\"I knew it, I knew it!\" cried Cristobal, clasping his hands in awe. \"I\nsaw your eyes follow me; and I never once turned but you were looking.\nThey told me it was only a picture; but I said for that very reason\nyour eyes were sorrowful,--you longed to be alive.\"\n\nThe child replied by a slight motion of the head; and the aureola\ntrembled like sunlight on the water. The longer Cristobal gazed, the\nmore courage he gathered. \"Lovely vision,\" said he, \"if vision you may\nbe,--I have said to myself, I would gladly walk to Rome with peas in\nmy shoes, if I could know what you wished to say to me that Christmas\nnight.\"\n\n\"Only this, little brother: Are you ready for Christmas?\"\n\n\"Alas! no: I never am. I have only two sous in the world.\"\n\n\"Poor Cristobal! Yet, without a centime, one may be ready for\nChristmas.\"\n\n\"But I am so very unhappy!\"\n\n\"You do indeed look sad, little brother: where is your pain?\"\n\n\"In my eyes,\" moaned the boy, pouring out the words with a delightful\nsense of relief; for he was sure they dropped into a pitying heart.\n\"Beloved little Jesus, let me tell you that since I saw you last I\nhave been wickedly injured. Now I have always a pain in my eyes: there\nare two flames behind them, which burn day and night.\"\n\n\"I grieve for you,\" said the Child with exquisite tenderness; \"yet,\ndear boy, for all that, you might be ready for Christmas: but is there\nnot also a pain throbbing and burning in your _heart_?\"\n\n\"Oh, if you mean that, I am tossed up and down by vexation: I am full\nof hatred against that terrible Jasper. It was all about a miserable\nChristmas-candle he carried. I broke it by pushing him down. Tell me,\nwas he right to fly at me like a wild beast? Ought he not to suffer\neven as I have suffered? Is it just, is it right, for the great man's\nson to put out a peasant boy's eyes, and be happy again?\"\n\n\"Misguided Jasper!\" said the Child solemnly; \"let him answer for his\nown sin: judge not, little brother.\"\n\nCristobal hid his face in his hands, and wept for shame.\n\n\"Shall I give you ten golden words for a Christmas-gift? Will you\nhide them in your heart, and be happy?\"\n\n\"I will,\" answered Cristobal.\n\n\"They are these,\" said the Child with a voice of wondrous sweetness:\n\"Pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you.\"\n\nCristobal repeated the words, a soft light stealing over his face. \"I\nwill remember,\" he said, looking up to meet the pleading eyes of the\nChild: but, lo! the whole face had melted into the aureola; nothing\nwas left but light. Yet Cristobal was filled with a new joy; and, as\nhe opened his eyes, his dream--if dream it were--changed, becoming as\nsweet and solemn as a prayer. It seemed to him that the roof of the\ncottage glittered with stars, and was no longer a roof, but the\nboundless sky; and, afar off, like remembered music, a voice fell on\nhis ear, \"For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father\nwill also forgive you your trespasses.\"\n\nCristobal arose, and, although still blind, walked in light. \"It is\nthe aureola which has stolen into my heart,\" thought Cristobal. \"The\npain and hate are all gone. Now I am ready for Christmas. I wish I\ncould help poor Jasper, who has such a weight of guilt to carry!\"\n\nNext day, \"golden-sided\" Burgundy saw no happier boy than Cristobal.\nHe walked in the procession that night, carrying a candle whose light\nhe could not see; but what did it signify, since there was light in\nhis soul?\n\nHark! In the midst of the Christmas-chimes breaks the jangling of\nfire-bells. The count's house is on fire! The sparks pour out thicker\nand faster; tongues of flame leap to the sky; the bells clang\nhoarsely; the Christmas procession is broken into wild disorder; the\nwheels of the engine roll through the streets, unheard in the din.\n\nCristobal rushed eagerly toward the flames, but was pulled away by the\npeople.\n\n\"We cannot drown the fire!\" they cried: \"the building must fall! Are\nthe inmates all safe?\"\n\n\"All, thank Heaven!\" cried the count.\n\n\"No: _Jasper_! See, he waves his hand from the third story! Save him!\nsave my boy!\"\n\nJasper had set fire to a curtain with his fatal Christmas-candle. Now\nhe raved and shouted in vain: no one would venture up the ladder.\n\n\"O Little Jesus,\" whispered Cristobal, \"give light to my eyes, even as\nunto my soul! Let me save Jasper!\"\n\nAt once the iron band fell from Cristobal's vision. He saw, and, at\nthe same moment, felt a supernatural strength. He tore away from the\nrestraining arms of the people; he rushed up the ladder, shouting, \"In\nthe name of the Little Jesus!\" He reached the window, heedless of his\nscorched arms. \"Jasper!\" he cried, seizing the half-conscious boy, \"be\nnot afraid: I have the strength to carry you.\"\n\nAnd down the ladder he bore him, step by step, through the crackling\nflames.\n\nJasper was revived; and the fainting Cristobal was borne through the\nstreets in the arms of the populace.\n\n\"Wonder of wonders!\" they all shouted.\n\n\"It was the Little Jesus,\" gasped Cristobal: \"he opened my eyes; he\nguided me up the ladder, and down again!\"\n\n\"Hallelujah!\" was now the cry. \"On the birthday of our Lord, the\nblind receive their sight.\"\n\n\"It is a triumph of faith,\" said the saints reverently.\n\n\"A miracle,\" murmured the nuns, making the sign of the cross.\n\n\"Not a miracle,\" replied the wise doctors, after they had first\nconsulted their books: \"it is only the electrifying of the optic\nnerve.\"\n\nBut hardly any two could agree, and what was so mysterious at the time\nis no clearer now.\n\n\"Dear little Cristobal,\" sobbed the broken-hearted Jasper, \"how could\nyou forgive such a wicked boy as I?\"\n\n\"It was very easy,\" replied Cristobal, \"when once the Little Jesus\ncalled me 'brother,' and bade me pray for you.\"\n\n\"Oh that I could repay you for your wonderful deed of love,\" said\nJasper, through his tears.\n\n\"Do not thank me,\" whispered Cristobal, with a look of awe; \"thank the\nLittle Jesus. And when he comes again next year, to ask what feelings\nwe hold in our hearts, let us both be ready for Christmas.\"\n\n\n\n\nWILD ROBIN.\n\nA SCOTTISH FAIRY TALE.\n\n\nIn the green valley of the Yarrow, near the castle-keep of Norham,\ndwelt an honest, sonsy little family, whose only grief was an unhappy\nson, named Robin.\n\nJanet, with jimp form, bonnie eyes, and cherry cheeks, was the best of\ndaughters; the boys, Sandie and Davie, were swift-footed, brave, kind,\nand obedient; but Robin, the youngest, had a stormy temper, and, when\nhis will was crossed, he became as reckless as a reeling hurricane.\nOnce, in a passion, he drove two of his father's \"kye,\" or cattle,\ndown a steep hill to their death. He seemed not to care for home or\nkindred, and often pierced the tender heart of his mother with sharp\nwords. When she came at night, and \"happed\" the bed-clothes carefully\nabout his form, and then stooped to kiss his nut-brown cheeks, he\nturned away with a frown, muttering, \"Mither, let me be.\"\n\nIt was a sad case with Wild Robin, who seemed to have neither love nor\nconscience.\n\n\"My heart is sair,\" sighed his mother, \"wi' greeting over sich a son.\"\n\n\"He hates our auld cottage and our muckle wark,\" said the poor father.\n\"Ah, weel! I could a'maist wish the fairies had him for a season, to\nteach him better manners.\"\n\nThis the gudeman said heedlessly, little knowing there was any danger\nof Robin's being carried away to Elf-land. Whether the fairies were at\nthat instant listening under the eaves, will never be known; but it\nchanced, one day, that Wild Robin was sent across the moors to fetch\nthe kye.\n\n\"I'll rin away,\" thought the boy: \"'tis hard indeed if ilka day a\ngreat lad like me must mind the kye. I'll gae aff; and they'll think\nme dead.\"\n\nSo he gaed, and he gaed, over round swelling hills, over old\nbattle-fields, past the roofless ruins of houses whose walls were\ncrowned with tall climbing grasses, till he came to a crystal sheet of\nwater, called St. Mary's Loch. Here he paused to take breath. The sky\nwas dull and lowering; but at his feet were yellow flowers, which\nshone, on that gray day, like freaks of sunshine.\n\nHe threw himself wearily upon the grass, not heeding that he had\nchosen his couch within a little mossy circle known as a \"fairy's\nring.\" Wild Robin knew that the country people would say the fays had\npressed that green circle with their light feet. He had heard all the\nScottish lore of brownies, elves, will-o'-the-wisps, and the strange\nwater-kelpies, who shriek with eldritch laughter. He had been told\nthat the queen of the fairies had coveted him from his birth, and\nwould have stolen him away, only that, just as she was about to seize\nhim from the cradle, he had _sneezed_; and from that instant the\nfairy-spell was over, and she had no more control of him.\n\nYet, in spite of all these stories, the boy was not afraid; and if he\nhad been informed that any of the uncanny people were, even now,\nhaunting his footsteps, he would not have believed it.\n\n\"I see,\" said Wild Robin, \"the sun is drawing his night-cap over his\neyes, and dropping asleep. I believe I'll e'en take a nap mysel', and\nsee what comes o' it.\"\n\nIn two minutes he had forgotten St. Mary's Loch, the hills, the moors,\nthe yellow flowers. He heard, or fancied he heard, his sister Janet\ncalling him home.\n\n\"And what have ye for supper?\" he muttered between his teeth.\n\n\"Parritch and milk,\" answered the lassie gently.\n\n\"Parritch and milk! Whist! say nae mair! Lang, lang may ye wait for\nWild Robin: he'll not gae back for oat-meal parritch!\"\n\nNext a sad voice fell on his ear.\n\n\"Mither's; and she mourns me dead!\" thought he; but it was only the\nfar-off village-bell, which sounded like the echo of music he had\nheard lang syne, but might never hear again.\n\n\"D'ye think I'm not alive?\" tolled the bell. \"I sit all day in my\nlittle wooden temple, brooding over the sins of the parish.\"\n\n\"A brazen lie!\" cried Robin.\n\n\"Nay, the truth, as I'm a living soul! Wae worth ye, Robin Telfer: ye\nthink yersel' hardly used. Say, have your brithers softer beds than\nyours? Is your ain father served with larger potatoes or creamier\nbuttermilk? Whose mither sae kind as yours, ungrateful chiel? Gae to\nElf-land, Wild Robin; and dool and wae follow ye! dool and wae follow\nye!\"\n\nThe round yellow sun had dropped behind the hills; the evening breezes\nbegan to blow; and now could be heard the faint trampling of small\nhoofs, and the tinkling of tiny bridle-bells: the fairies were\ntrooping over the ground. First of all rode the queen.\n\n    \"Her skirt was of the grass-green silk,\n      Her mantle of the velvet fine;\n    At ilka tress of her horse's mane\n      Hung fifty silver bells and nine.\"\n\nBut Wild Robin's closed eyes saw nothing; his sleep-sealed ears heard\nnothing. The queen of fairies dismounted, stole up to him, and laid\nher soft fingers on his cheeks.\n\n\"Here is a little man after my ain heart,\" said she: \"I like his\nknitted brow, and the downward curve of his lips. Knights, lift him\ngently, set him on a red-roan steed, and waft him away to Fairy-land.\"\n\nWild Robin was lifted as gently as a brown leaf borne by the wind; he\nrode as softly as if the red-roan steed had been saddled with satin,\nand shod with velvet. It even may be that the faint tinkling of the\nbridle-bells lulled him into a deeper slumber; for when he awoke it\nwas morning in Fairy-land.\n\nRobin sprang from his mossy couch, and stared about him. Where was he?\nHe rubbed his eyes, and looked again. Dreaming, no doubt; but what\nmeant all these nimble little beings bustling hither and thither in\nhot haste? What meant these pearl-bedecked caves, scarcely larger than\nswallows' nests? these green canopies, overgrown with moss? He pinched\nhimself, and gazed again. Countless flowers nodded to him, and seemed,\nlike himself, on tiptoe with curiosity, he thought. He beckoned one of\nthe busy, dwarfish little brownies toward him.\n\n\"I ken I'm talking in my sleep,\" said the lad; \"but can ye tell me\nwhat dell is this, and how I chanced to be in it?\"\n\nThe brownie might or might not have heard; but, at any rate, he\ndeigned no reply, and went on with his task, which was pounding seeds\nin a stone mortar.\n\n\"Am I Robin Telfer, of the Valley of Yarrow, and yet canna shake aff\nmy silly dreams?\"\n\n\"Weel, my lad,\" quoth the queen of the fairies, giving him a smart tap\nwith her wand, \"stir yersel', and be at work; for naebody idles in\nElf-land.\"\n\nBewildered Robin ventured a look at the little queen. By daylight she\nseemed somewhat sleepy and tired; and was withal so tiny, that he\nmight almost have taken her between his thumb and finger, and twirled\nher above his head; yet she poised herself before him on a\nmullein-stalk, and looked every inch a queen. Robin found her gaze\noppressive; for her eyes were hard and cold and gray, as if they had\nbeen little orbs of granite.\n\n\"Get ye to work, Wild Robin!\"\n\n\"What to do?\" meekly asked the boy, hungrily glancing at a few kernels\nof rye which had rolled out of one of the brownie's mortars.\n\n\"Are ye hungry, my laddie? touch a grain of rye if ye dare! Shell\nthese dry bains; and if so be ye're starving, eat as many as ye can\nboil in an acorn-cup.\"\n\nWith these words she gave the boy a withered bean-pod, and, summoning\na meek little brownie, bade him see that the lad did not over-fill the\nacorn-cup, and that he did not so much as peck at a grain of rye.\nThen, glancing sternly at her unhappy prisoner, she withdrew, sweeping\nafter her the long train of her green robe.\n\nThe dull days crept by, and still there seemed no hope that Wild Robin\nwould ever escape from his beautiful but detested prison. He had no\nwings, poor laddie; and he could neither become invisible nor draw\nhimself through a keyhole bodily.\n\nIt is true, he had mortal companions: many chubby babies; many\nbright-eyed boys and girls, whose distracted parents were still\nseeking them, far and wide, upon the earth. It would almost seem that\nthe wonders of Fairy-land might make the little prisoners happy. There\nwere countless treasures to be had for the taking, and the very dust\nin the little streets was precious with specks of gold: but the poor\nchildren shivered for the want of a mother's love; they all pined for\nthe dear home-people. If a certain task seemed to them particularly\nirksome, the heartless queen was sure to find it out, and oblige them\nto perform it, day after day. If they disliked any article of food,\nthat, and no other, were they forced to eat, or starve.\n\nWild Robin, loathing his withered beans and unsalted broths, longed\nintensely for one little breath of fragrant steam from the toothsome\nparritch on his father's table, one glance at a roasted potato. He was\nhomesick for the gentle sister he had neglected, the rough brothers\nwhose cheeks he had pelted black and blue; and yearned for the very\nchinks in the walls, the very thatch on the home-roof.\n\nGladly would he have given every fairy-flower, at the root of which\nclung a lump of gold ore, if he might have had his own coverlet\n\"happed\" about him once more by the gentle hands he had despised.\n\n\"Mither,\" he whispered in his dreams, \"my shoon are worn, and my feet\nbleed; but I'll soon creep hame, if I can. Keep the parritch warm for\nme.\"\n\nRobin was as strong as a mountain-goat; and his strength was put to\nthe task of threshing rye, grinding oats and corn, or drawing water\nfrom a brook.\n\nEvery night, troops of gay fairies and plodding brownies stole off on\na visit to the upper world, leaving Robin and his companions in ever\ndeeper despair. Poor Robin! he was fain to sing,--\n\n    \"Oh that my father had ne'er on me smiled!\n      Oh that my mother had ne'er to me sung!\n    Oh that my cradle had never been rocked,\n      But that I had died when I was young!\"\n\nNow, there was one good-natured brownie who pitied Robin. When he took\na journey to earth with his fellow-brownies, he often threshed rye for\nthe laddie's father, or churned butter in his good mother's dairy,\nunseen and unsuspected. If the little creature had been watched, and\npaid for these good offices, he would have left the farmhouse forever\nin sore displeasure.\n\nTo homesick Robin he brought news of the family who mourned him as\ndead. He stole a silky tress of Janet's fair hair, and wondered to see\nthe boy weep over it; for brotherly affection is a sentiment which\nnever yet penetrated the heart of a brownie. The dull little sprite\nwould gladly have helped the poor lad to his freedom, but told him\nthat only on one night of the year was there the least hope, and that\nwas on Hallow-e'en, when the whole nation of fairies ride in\nprocession through the streets of earth.\n\nSo Robin was instructed to spin a dream, which the kind brownie would\nhum in Janet's ear while she slept. By this means the lassie would not\nonly learn that her brother was in the power of the elves, but would\nalso learn how to release him.\n\nAccordingly, the night before Hallow-e'en, the bonnie Janet dreamed\nthat the long-lost Robin was living in Elf-land, and that he was to\npass through the streets with a cavalcade of fairies. But, alas! how\nshould even a sister know him in the dim starlight, among the passing\ntroops of elfish and mortal riders? The dream assured her that she\nmight let the first company go by, and the second; but Robin would be\none of the third:--\n\n    \"First let pass the black, Janet,\n      And syne let pass the brown;\n    But grip ye to the milk-white steed,\n      And pull the rider down.\n\n    For _I_ ride on the milk-white steed,\n      And aye nearest the town:\n    Because I was a christened lad\n      They gave me that renown.\n\n    My right hand will be gloved, Janet;\n      My left hand will be bare;\n    And these the tokens I give thee:\n      No doubt I will be there.\n\n    They'll shape me in your arms, Janet,\n      A toad, snake, and an eel\n    But hold me fast, nor let me gang,\n      As you do love me weel.\n\n    They'll shape me in your arms, Janet,\n      A dove, bat, and a swan:\n    Cast your green mantle over me,\n      I'll be myself again.\"\n\nThe good sister Janet, far from remembering any of the old sins of her\nbrother, wept for joy to know that he was yet among the living. She\ntold no one of her strange dream; but hastened secretly to the Miles\nCross, saw the strange cavalcade pricking through the greenwood, and\npulled down the rider on the milk-white steed, holding him fast\nthrough all his changing shapes. But when she had thrown her green\nmantle over him, and clasped him in her arms as her own brother\nRobin, the angry voice of the fairy queen was heard:--\n\n    \"Up then spake the queen of fairies,\n      Out of a bush of rye,\n    'You've taken away the bonniest lad\n      In all my companie.\n\n    'Had I but had the wit, yestreen,\n      That I have learned to-day,\n    I'd pinned the sister to her bed\n      E're he'd been won away!'\"\n\nHowever, it was too late now. Wild Robin was safe, and the elves had\nlost their power over him forever. His forgiving parents and his\nleal-hearted brothers welcomed him home with more than the old love.\n\nSo grateful and happy was the poor laddie, that he nevermore grumbled\nat his oat-meal parritch, or minded his kye with a scowling brow.\n\nBut to the end of his days, when he heard mention of fairies and\nbrownies, his mind wandered off in a mizmaze. He died in peace, and\nwas buried on the banks of the Yarrow.\n\n\n\n\nTHE VESPER STAR.\n\n\nOnce upon a time, the new moon was shining like a silver bow in the\nheavens, and the stars glittered and trembled as if they were afraid.\n\n\"What frightens you?\" said the placid Moon; \"be calm, like me.\"\n\n\"I am freezing,\" answered the North Star; \"that is why I shake.\"\n\n\"We are dancing,\" said the Seven Sisters; \"and, watch as closely as\nyou please, you can never get a fair peep at our golden sandals, our\nfeet twinkle so.\"\n\n\"I am sleepy,\" grumbled the Great Bear; \"I am trying to keep my eyes\nopen. Perhaps that is the reason I wink so much.\"\n\nThus, with one accord, they made excuses to the pale Moon, who is\ntheir guardian,--all but the sweet Vesper Star: she was silent; and\nwhen a white cloud floated by, she was glad of an excuse to hide her\nface.\n\n\"Let the North Star shiver, and the Seven Sisters dance, and all the\ngolden stars hold a revel,\" thought she; \"as for me, I am sad.\"\n\nFor you must know that the Vesper Star has a task to perform, and is\nnot allowed to sleep. She keeps vigil over the Earth, by night; and\nnever ceases her watch till the world is up in the morning. For the\nsick and sad, who cannot sleep, she feels an unutterable pity, so that\nher heart is always throbbing with sorrow.\n\nThe Moon looked at the Vesper Star, and said, \"Dream on, sweet sister;\nfor you, the noblest of all, have told me no falsehood.\"\n\nThis the Moon said because she knew that none of the stars had given\na true reason for twinkling so gayly that night. The truth was, they\nwere filled with envy, and were trying to be as brilliant as possible,\nto compete with a flaming Comet which had just appeared in the sky.\n\nIt is not for man to know how long and how peacefully the gentle stars\nhad travelled together, doing the work which God has appointed,\nwithout a murmur. But now that this distinguished stranger had\narrived, the whole firmament was in dismay. How proudly he strode the\nheavens! how his blaze illumined the sky! The Stars whispered one to\nanother, and cast angry eyes on the shining wonder.\n\n\"Make way for me,\" he said, sweeping after him a glorious train of\nlight.\n\n\"Not I,\" muttered the fiery Mars.\n\n\"Not I,\" quoth the majestic Jupiter; \"I do not move an inch.\"\n\nThe Comet flashed with a lofty disdain.\n\n\"Puny Stars,\" said he, \"keep your places, give out all your\nlight,--nobody heeds you; the place of honor is always by the Vesper\nStar; here I make my throne.\"\n\nThe Vesper Star smiled sadly, but without a twinge of envy.\n\n\"Welcome, shining one! Warm me with your fires; let us work together.\"\n\n\"Work!\" cried the Comet, throwing out sparkles of scorn; \"I was not\nborn to work, but to _shine_!\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" said the Vesper Star; \"you have come into strange company,\nthen; for here we all work with a good will.\" \"He does not burn with\nthe true fire,\" thought the good Star; and she wrapped herself about\nwith a soft cloud, and said no more.\n\n\"Oh that I could be set on fire like the Comet!\" thought the cold\nNorth Star. \"I would gladly burn to death if I could astonish the\nworld with my blaze!\"\n\n\"Let us die!\" said the Seven Sisters; \"let us die together; we have\nceased to be noticed.\"\n\n\"Ah, hum!\" growled the Great Bear; \"so many years as I have kept watch\nin this sky; and now to be set one side by this upstart of a\nforeigner! I've a great mind to go to sleep and never wake up!\"\n\n\"Hush!\" whispered the Vesper Star gently; \"do your duty, and trust God\nfor the rest.\"\n\nAnd lo! that very night there was an end of the Comet's splendor.\n\n\"Adieu, my dull friends,\" said he; \"I am tired of a quiet life: a\nlittle more, and I should fade out entirely!\"\n\nThen, with a blaze and a whiz, and a dizzy wheel, he flashed out of\nthe sky; and no one knew whither he went, or whence he came, any more\nthan the path of the quick lightning.\n\nThe stars were ashamed of their envy, and went to their old work with\na stronger will and a steadier purpose: but to the Vesper Star was\ngiven a brighter and sweeter light than to any other, because she had\ndone her work without envy and without repining.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WATER-KELPIE.\n\n\nOnce there lived under the earth a race of fairies called gnomes. They\nwere strange little beings, with dull eyes and harsh voices; but they\ndid no harm, and lived in peace.\n\nThey never saw the sun; but they had lamps much brighter than our\ngaslight, which burned night and day, year after year.\n\nThey had music; but it was the tinkling of silver bells and golden\nharps,--not half so sweet as the singing of birds and the babbling of\nbrooks.\n\nFlowers they had none, but plenty of gems,--\"the stars of earth.\"\nThere were green trees in the kingdom: but the leaves were hard\nemeralds; and the fruit, apples of gold or cherries of ruby; and these\nprecious gems the gnomes ground to powder, and swallowed with much\nsatisfaction.\n\nThey heaped up piles of gold and diamonds as high as your head; and\nnever was there a gnome so poor as to build a house of any thing a\nwhit coarser than jasper or onyx. You would have believed yourself\ndreaming, if you could have walked through the streets of their\ncities. They were paved with rosy almandine and snowy alabaster; and\nthe palaces glittered in the gay lamplight like a million stars.\n\nThese gnomes led, for the most part, rather dull lives. Like their\ncousins, the water-sprites, or undines, they were roguish and shrewd,\nbut had no higher views of life than our katydids and crickets.\nIndeed, they hardly cared for any thing but frisking about, eating\nand sleeping. But, after all, what can be expected of creatures\nwithout souls? One sees, now and then, stupid human beings, whose eyes\nhave no thoughts in them, and whose souls seem to be sound asleep.\nSuch lumps of dulness might almost as well be gnomes, and slip into\nthe earth and have done with it.\n\nThese underground folk had a great horror of our world. They knew all\nabout it; for one of them had peeped out and taken a bird's-eye view.\nHe went up very bravely, but hurried back with such strange accounts,\nthat his friends considered him a little insane.\n\n\"Listen!\" said the gnome, whose name was Clod. \"The earth has a soft\ncarpet, of a new kind of emerald; overhead is a blue roof, made of\nturquoise; but I am told that there is a crack in it, and sometimes\nwater comes pouring down in torrents. But the worst plague of all is\na great glaring eye-ball of fire, which mortals call the sun.\"\n\nWhen Clod told his stories of the earth, he always ended by saying,--\n\n\"Believe me, it is bad luck to have the sun shine on you. It nearly\nput my eyes out; and I have had the headache ever since.\"\n\nNow, there was a young girl, named Moneta, who listened very eagerly\nto the old gnome's stories of the earth, and thought she would like to\nsee it for herself. She was a kind little maiden, as playful as a\nkitten; and her friends were not willing she should go. But Moneta had\nsomewhere heard that fairies who marry mortals receive the gift of a\nhuman soul: so, in spite of all objections, she was resolved to take\nthe journey; for she had in her dark mind some vague aspirations after\na higher state of being.\n\nThen the gnome-family declared, that, if she once went away, they\nwould never allow her to return; for they highly disapproved of\nrunning backward and forward between the two worlds, gossiping.\n\n\"Have you no love of country,\" cried they, \"that you would willingly\ncast your lot among silly creatures who look down upon your race?\"\n\nThe old gnome, who had travelled, took the romantic maiden one side,\nand said,--\n\n\"My dear Moneta, since you _will_ go, I must tell you a secret; for\nyou remember I have seen the world, and know all about it. Mortals are\na higher race than ourselves, it is true; but that is only because\nthey live atop o' the earth, while we are under their feet. They make\na great parade about their little ticking jewel they call Conscience;\nbut, after all, they will any of them sell it for one of our\near-rings! I assure you they love money better than their own souls;\nand I would advise you, as a friend that has seen the world, to load\nyourself with as much gold as you can carry.\"\n\nSo Moneta donned a heavy dress of spun gold, which was woven in such a\nmanner, that, at every motion she made, it let fall a shower of\ngold-dust. She filled the sleeves with sardonyx, almandine, and\namethyst; and hid in her bosom diamonds and sapphires enough to\npurchase a kingdom.\n\nThen she went up a steep ladder, and knocked on the alabaster ceiling,\nusing the charm which the gnome had given her:--\n\n\"Mother Earth, Mother Earth, set me free!\"\n\nAt her words there was a sound as of an earthquake, and a little space\nwas made, just large enough for her to crawl through. When she had\nreached the top, the earth closed again, and she was left seated upon\na rock; and the light of the sun was so dazzling, that she hid her\nface in her hands.\n\nThus she sat for a long time, not knowing whither to go, till a young\nman chanced to come that way, who said, \"What do you here?\"\n\nShe raised her face at his words, and could not speak, so great was\nher surprise at the beauty of the strange youth. He, for his part,\ncould not help smiling; for she was as yellow as an orange; and an\nuglier little creature he had never beheld: but he said in a kind\nvoice,--\n\n\"Come with me to my mother's house, and you shall be refreshed with\ncake and wine.\"\n\nShe arose to follow him; and, as she walked, a bright shower of\ngold-dust sprinkled the earth at every step.\n\nThe young man held out his hands eagerly to catch the shining spray,\nthinking he would like such a rarely-gifted damsel for his wife; and,\nin truth, he smiled so sweetly, and dropped such winning words, that\nin time he won her heart and she became his bride.\n\n    \"And, when she cam' into the kirk,\n      She shimmered like the sun;\n    The belt that was about her waist\n      Was a' with pearles bedone.\"\n\nSo great was her love for him, that she forgot her lost home under the\nearth; and every day, when she bade her husband \"good-morning,\" she\nplaced in his hand a precious stone; and he kissed her, calling her\nhis \"dear Moneta,\" his \"heart's jewel.\" But at last the diamonds,\nsapphires, and rubies were all gone; and she was also losing the power\nof shedding gold-dust. Then her husband frowned on her, and no longer\ncalled her his \"heart's jewel,\" or his \"dear Moneta.\"\n\nAt length she presented him with a little daughter as lovely as a\nwater-sprite, with hair like threads of gold. Now the father watched\nthe babe with a greedy eye; for its mother had wept precious tears of\nmolten gold before she received the gift of human grief, and he hoped\nher child would do the same; but, when he found it was only a common\nmortal, he shut his heart against the babe. Moneta was no longer\nyellow and ugly, but very beautiful; with deep eyes, out of which\nlooked a sweet soul: yet she had lost her fairy gifts, and her husband\nhad ceased to love her. The good woman mourned in secret; and would\nhave wished to die, only her precious child comforted her heart.\n\nOne day, as she was sitting by the shore of the lake, a water-kelpie\nsaw her weeping, and came to her in the form of a white-haired old\nman, saying,--\n\n\"Charming lady! why do you weep? Come with me to my kingdom under the\nwaters. My people are always happy.\"\n\nThen she looked where he bade her, and saw, afar down under the\nwaters, a beautiful city, whose streets were paved with red and white\ncoral.\n\nThe kelpie said, \"Will you go down?\"\n\n\"No,\" sighed Moneta, thinking of the kind words her husband had\nsometimes spoken to her: \"I cannot go yet.\"\n\nBut the kelpie came every day, repeating the question, \"Will you go\nnow?\" and she answered, \"I cannot go yet.\"\n\nBut at last her husband said,--\n\n\"How often the thought comes to me, If I had no wife and child, all\nthis gold would be mine!\" and he knitted his brows with a frown.\n\nThen Moneta looked in his face, and said,--\n\n\"Dear Ivan, I have loved you truly; but you no longer care for Moneta.\nI will go away with the little child, and all our gold shall be yours.\nFarewell!\"\n\nThen she embraced him with falling tears. His heart was stirred within\nhim; and he would have followed her, only he knew not which way she\nhad gone.\n\nSoon the water-kelpie came to him in the form of a horse; and ran\nbefore him, neighing fiercely, and breathing fire from his mouth. This\nis the way kelpies take to announce the fact that some one has gone\nunder the water.\n\nSo the man followed the kelpie. His heart was swelling with grief;\nand all his love for his wife and child had come back to him.\n\nHe looked into the lake, and saw the fair city. In a transparent\npalace Moneta was sitting, crowned with pearls, the child sleeping on\nher bosom. He shouted,--\n\n\"Come back, O Moneta!\" but she heard him not.\n\nHe went every day to the same spot, never leaving it until the water\nwas clear, and he had seen his wife and child. He cared no more for\nhis fine castle and his gold; for the castle was empty, and the gold\ncould not speak.\n\n\"Alas,\" cried he, \"if I could listen to the music of Moneta's voice!\nif I could hold the child in my arms once more!\"\n\nNow he cared for nothing but to gaze into the waters at Moneta and her\nchild.\n\nOne day, the water-kelpie appeared to him in the form of an old man.\n\n    [Illustration: THE WATER-KELPIE. Page 70.]\n\n\"Why sit you here, sighing like the north wind?\" said the kelpie.\n\n\"I have loved gold better than my best friends,\" replied Ivan; \"and\nnow my best friends are taken away from me, and the gold is left; but\nI love it no longer.\"\n\n\"Ah, ah!\" growled the kelpie; \"I have heard of such men as you:\nnothing is dear till it is missed. You should have thought of that\nbefore. If your lost ones were to return, you would treat them as\nbadly as ever, no doubt.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" groaned Ivan; \"I would love them better than all the wealth\nin the world! I would love them better than my own life! Ah, the sting\nit is to think of my own ingratitude!\"\n\n\"Hold!\" said the kelpie: \"grumble to yourself if you like, but don't\nvex my ears with your complaints. Suppose I were to bring back Moneta\nand the child,--would you give me your chests of gold?\"\n\n\"That I will,\" cried the man, \"right joyfully.\"\n\n\"Not so fast: will you give me your castle as well?\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, castle and gold; take them, and welcome.\"\n\n\"Not so fast: Moneta and her child are worth more than these. Will you\ngive me the castle and gold, and ten years of your life?\"\n\n\"With all my heart.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said the kelpie \"go home, and to-morrow you shall see Moneta\nand her child.\"\n\nWhen the morrow came, the husband and wife wept for joy at meeting\nonce more; and Ivan said,--\n\n\"Can you forgive me, dearest Moneta?\"\n\nMoneta had already forgiven him; and the three--father, mother, and\nchild--loved one another, and were content to the end of their lives;\nand Ivan said,--\n\n\"Once for all I have found that gold cannot make one happy; but, with\nthe blessing of a clear conscience, warm hearts and loving words are\nthe sweetest things in life.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE LOST SYLPHID.\n\n    \"I tell the tale as 'twas told to me.\"\n\n\nI have heard that one night, on a distant shore, a band of\nwater-nixies were dancing to gentle music, their golden sandals\ntwinkling like stars.\n\nA lord and lady were walking on the same shore. The lord's eyes were\nbent on the ground; but his wife paused, and said,--\n\n\"Listen, my lord, to that enchanting music!\"\n\n\"I hear no music,\" he replied, laughing. \"You must wake up, dear wife.\n\n    \"With half-shut eyes, ever you seem\n    Falling asleep in a half-dream.\"\n\n\"But, my lord, those exquisite beings in gossamer robes! surely you\nsee them!\"\n\n\"I see the play of the moonbeams, my love, and nothing more.\"\n\nBut the wife stood transfixed. One beautiful fairy, taller and fairer\nthan her companions, had wings, and floated through the dance,\nscarcely touching the earth.\n\n\"Was ever such a vision of loveliness?\" cried the enraptured lady:\n\"she must be my own little daughter,--eat of my bread, and sleep upon\nmy bosom.\"\n\nThen, kneeling, she sang,--\n\n    \"Fair little nixies, that dwell near the water,\n    Give me the winged one to be my own daughter.\"\n\nThe dance ceased. The nixies, bewildered, looked north and south, and\nknew not which way to flee; but the winged fairy, attracted by the\nhuman love in the lady's eyes, glided slowly forward. Then the nixies\nstormed in fierce wrath, their willowy figures swaying to and fro as\nif blown by the wind.\n\n\"They shall not harm you, little one. Come with me, be my own\ndaughter, and I will carry you home.\"\n\n\"Home!\" echoed the lovely child; \"my home is in the Summer-land. Oh,\nwill you indeed carry me there?\"\n\nThen she folded her white wings, and nestled in the lady's bosom like\na gentle dove, and was borne to a beautiful castle that overlooked the\nsea. The water-nixies soon forgot her, for they could not hold her\nmemory in their little humming-bird hearts.\n\nShe was not of their race. Her wings were soft and transparent, like\nthose of a white butterfly; and she ever declared that she had once\nalighted from a cloud, and been caught in a nixie's net spread upon\nthe grass.\n\nBut, in time, her wings dwindled and disappeared; and then the lord,\nwho was now her father, could not remember that she had ever been\nother than an earthly child.\n\n\"You fancy you were once a sylphid,\" said he; \"but there are no\nsylphids, my sweet one, and there is no Summer-land.\"\n\nThe child became as dear to the lord and lady as their very heart's\nblood; and they forgot her foreign birth, and almost believed, as all\nthe world did, that she was their own little daughter. But the child\ndid not forget. She longed for the true home she had left; but whither\nshould she go to seek it?\n\n\"Dear papa,\" said she, one day, \"I beg you will not say again there\nare no sylphids; for I remember so well how I spread my wings and\nflew. It was glorious to see the clouds float under my feet!\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said the lord; \"if you like, I will say there are\nsylphids in the air, and trolls inside the earth; and, once on a time,\nI was myself a great white butterfly: do you remember chasing me over\na bed of roses?\"\n\n\"O papa, now you laugh! I love the twinkle in your eye; and I am so\nglad it is you, and no one else, who is my papa; but just the same,\nand forevermore, I shall keep saying, _I was a sylphid_!\"\n\nSometimes, when she set her white teeth into some delicious fruit, she\nsaid with dreamy eyes,--\n\n\"These grapes of Samarcand came across the seas; but they are not so\nsweet as the fruit in my own garden, mamma.\"\n\n\"And where is your garden, my child?\"\n\n\"Oh, in the Summer-land. I always forget that you have never seen it.\nWhen I go there again, mamma, I will certainly take you too; for I\nlove you with all my heart. I can never go without you.\"\n\nWhen she heard the evening-bells from the minster, she said, \"Oh, they\nare like the joy-bells at home, only not so sweet. Nothing, here, is\nso sweet. Even my dear mamma is not so lovely as the lady who comes\nwhen I am asleep.\"\n\nLittle One--they called her Little One for the want of a name--loved\nto prattle about the wonders of that mysterious fairy-land, which no\none but herself had ever seen. Her mother would not check her, but let\nher tell her pretty visions of remembered rainbows, and palaces, and\nprecious gems. She said,--\n\n\"The child has such a vivid fancy! It is not all of us who can see\npictures when our eyes are shut.\"\n\nBut the lord was not so well pleased; and once, when his daughter\nlooked at a frozen stream and murmured, \"_We_ have the _happiest_\nrivers at home; they sing all day long, all the year, without\nfreezing! Can I find that Summer-land again! Oh, I would creep all\nover the world to seek it,\" he replied,--\n\n\"Little One, it is some cloud-city you are thinking of, some\ndream-land, or isle of Long Ago, which you will never see again. I beg\nyou to forget these wild fancies.\"\n\nBut still the child dreamed on. Once she heard the glad song of the\nHyperboreans:--\n\n    \"I come from a land in the sun-bright deep,\n      Where golden gardens glow;\n    Where the winds of the North, becalmed in sleep,\n      Their conch-shells never blow.\"\n\nShe clapped her hands, murmuring to herself,--\n\n\"_There_ is my home! I think I remember now it _was_ 'a land in the\nsun-bright deep!'\"\n\nSo, when she journeyed with her parents to distant countries, she\nalways hoped that some ship would bear her away to the Happy Isles;\nand when they once touched a bright shore, and some one cried, \"The\nisles of Greece! the isles of Greece!\" she thought she was home at\nlast, and hardly dared look at the remembered shore. But, alas, she\nhad not yet reached the Summer-land: this was not her home.\n\nThen she heard her father say that the jewels she wore had been\nbrought up from the deep places under the earth.\n\n\"I wonder I had not thought of that,\" she said to herself. \"Since\nthere are such beautiful gems in my lost home, it must lie under the\nearth. No doubt if I could only find the right cave, and walk in it\nfar enough, I should come to the Summer-land.\"\n\nSo she set out, one day, in wild haste, but only lost herself in a\ndeep cavern; and, when she found daylight again, she was all alone\nupon the face of the earth. Her father and mother were nowhere to be\nseen. She shouted their names, and ran to and fro seeking them till\nher strength was all spent. It was growing dark; and Little One could\nonly creep under a shelter, and weep herself asleep.\n\nNext morning it was no better, but far worse. Her wretched parents had\ngone home, believing her drowned in the sea. Poor Little One was now\nall alone in the world, and her heart ached with the cold. Kind\nfriends gave her food and shelter, and her clothing was warm as warm\ncould be; still her heart ached with the cold. People praised her\nbeauty so much that she dared not look up to let them see how lovely\nshe was; but she had lost both her father and mother, and her heart\nached and ached. She thought winter was coming on; and the world was\ngrowing so chilly, that now she must certainly set out for the\nSummer-land. Then she said,--\n\n\"If I am a sylphid, perhaps my home is over the hills, and far away.\nYes: I think it must be in the country where the music goes.\"\n\nFor she thought, when she heard music, that it seemed to hover and\nfloat over the earth, and lose itself in the sky; so she began to set\nher face toward the country where the music goes. But, though she\ngazed till her eyes ached, she never saw her long-lost home, nor so\nmuch as a glimpse of one of its spires.\n\nOne night, after gazing and weeping till she could scarcely see, and\nhad no tears left, the bright being who visited her dreams came and\nwhispered,--\n\n    \"If there be a land so fair\n      O'er the mountain shining,\n    You will never enter there\n      By looking up and pining.\"\n\n\"Dear me! then what shall I do?\" said Little One, clasping her hands.\n\"I am tired of the dropping rain, and the bleak winds; I have lost my\nfather and mother; I long to go home to the Summer-land.\"\n\n\"There are hills to climb, and streams to cross,\" said the fairy.\n\n\"But I have stout shoes,\" laughed Little One.\n\n\"There are thorns and briers all along the road.\"\n\n\"But I can bear to be pricked.\"\n\n\"Then I will guide you,\" said the fairy.\n\n\"How can that be?\" cried the child. \"You come to me in dreams; but by\ndaylight I cannot see so much as the tips of your wings.\"\n\n\"Listen, and you will hear my voice,\" replied the fairy. \"Set out\ntoward the East, at dawn, to-morrow, and I will be with you.\"\n\nWhen Little One awoke, the sun was rising, and she said,--\n\n\"Oh that golden gate! The sun has left it open: do you see it,\nbeautiful lady?\"\n\n\"I see it,\" whispered the fairy: \"I am close beside you.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Little One, fastening her dress, and putting on all the\njewels she could possibly carry, \"I think I will set out at once; for,\nif I make all speed, I may reach the Summer-land before that golden\ngate is closed.\"\n\nShe pressed on, as the fairy directed, up a steep hill, her eyes\nfixed on the glowing eastern sky. But, as the sun strode up higher,\nthe morning clouds melted away.\n\n\"Where is my golden gate?\" cried the child.\n\n\"Weeping so soon?\" whispered the fairy.\n\n\"Do not scold me, dear Whisper,\" moaned the child; \"you know I have\nlost my kind father and mother; and the thorns prick me; and then this\nis such a lonely road; there is nobody to be seen.\"\n\nThe truth was, there were children gathering strawberries on the hill,\nand old women digging herbs; but Little One did not see them, for she\nwas all the while watching the sky. But she was soon obliged to pause,\nand take breath.\n\n\"Look about you,\" said the Whisper, \"you may see some one as unhappy\nas yourself.\"\n\nThe child looked, and saw a little girl driving a goat; while large\ntears trickled down her cheeks, and moistened her tattered dress. For\na moment, Little One's heart ceased aching with its own troubles.\n\n\"What is your name, little girl?\" said she: \"and why do you weep?\"\n\n\"My name is Poor Dorel,\" replied the child; \"my father and mother are\nlong since dead; and I have nothing to eat but goat's milk and\nstrawberries:\" and, as she spoke, the large tears started afresh.\n\n\"Poor Dorel! you are the first one I ever saw who had as much trouble\nas I. I, too, have lost a father and mother.\"\n\n\"Were they a king and queen?\" asked Dorel, wiping her eyes, and gazing\nat Little One's beautiful dress and glittering ornaments.\n\n\"They loved me dearly,\" replied Little One sadly; \"yet I never heard\nthat they were king and queen. Come with me, darling Dorel! I never\nbefore saw any one who was hungry. Come with me! I live in a country\nwhere there is food enough for everybody.\"\n\n\"Where is that?\" said Dorel, eagerly.\n\n\"I do not quite know, little girl; but it is not in the bosom of the\nearth, and it is not in the sun-bright deep: so I suppose it is over\nthe hills, and far away.\"\n\n\"Now I know who you are,\" said Dorel. \"You are the _lost sylphid_; and\npeople say you have travelled all over the world. But, if you do not\nknow the way home, pray how can you tell which road to take?\"\n\n\"Oh! I have a guide,--a beautiful fairy, called Whisper: she shows me\nevery step of the way. I wish you would go too, little Dorel!\"\n\n\"I think I will not, little Sylphid; for, if you have only a Whisper\nfor a guide, I do not believe you will ever get there; but, oh, you\nare very, very beautiful!\"\n\n\"If you will not go,\" said Little One, \"let me, at least, give you a\nfew of my jewels: you can sell them for bread.\"\n\nSo saying, she took from her girdle some turquoise ornaments, and\nplaced them in Dorel's hand with a kiss which had her whole heart in\nit.\n\n\"Now I love you,\" said Dorel; \"but more for the kiss than any thing\nelse; and I am going before you to cut down the thorns that shoot out\nby the wayside. I am a little mountain-girl, and know how to use the\npruning-knife.\"\n\nLittle One danced for joy. She found she could now walk with wonderful\nease; for not only were there no more sharp thorns to prick her, but\nher heart was also full of a new love, which made the whole world look\nbeautiful.\n\n\"You see the way is growing easier,\" said the Whisper.\n\n    \"Pour out thy love like the rush of a river,\n    Wasting its waters forever and ever.\"\n\n\"So I will,\" said Little One. \"Is there any one else to love?\"\n\nBy and by she met an old woman, bent nearly double, and picking up dry\nsticks with trembling hands.\n\n\"Poor woman!\" said Little One: \"I am going to love you.\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" said the old crone, dropping her sticks, and looking up\nwith surprise in every wrinkle: \"you don't mean _me_? Why, my heart is\nall dried up.\"\n\n\"Then you need to be loved all the more,\" cried Little One heartily.\n\nThe poor woman laughed; but, at the same time, brushed a tear from\nher eye with the corner of her apron.\n\n\"I thought,\" said Little One, \"I was the only unhappy one in the\nworld: it seemed a pity my heart should ache so much; but, oh, I would\nrather have it ache than be dried up!\"\n\n\"I suppose you never were beaten,\" said the old woman; \"you were never\npelted with whizzing stones?\"\n\n\"Indeed I never, never was!\" replied Little One, greatly shocked by\nthe question.\n\n\"By your costly dress, I know you never were so poor as to be always\nlonging for food. Let me tell you, my good child, when one is beaten\nand scolded, and feels cold all winter, and hungry all summer, it is\nno wonder one's heart dries up!\"\n\nLittle One threw her arms about the old woman's neck. \"Let me help\nyou pick sticks!\" said she; \"you are too old for hard work; your hands\ntremble too much.\"\n\nSwiftly gathering up a load of fagots, she put them together in a\nbundle.\n\n\"Now, how many jewels shall I give her?\" thought the child. \"She must\nnever want for food again.\"\n\n\"How many?\" echoed the Whisper.\n\n    \"Give as the morning that flows out of heaven:\n    Give as the free air and sunshine are given.\"\n\n\"Then she shall have half,\" said Little One in great glee. \"Here, poor\nwoman, take these sapphires and rubies and diamonds, and never be\nhungry again!\"\n\n\"Heavenly child!\" said the stranger, laying her wasted hand on the\nsylphid's bright head, and blessing her, \"it is little except thanks\nthat an old creature like me can give; yet may be you will not scorn\nthis pair of little shoes: they are strong, and, when you have to step\non the sharp mountain-rocks, they will serve you well.\"\n\nLittle One's delicate slippers were already much worn, and she gladly\nexchanged them for the goat-skin shoes; but, strange to relate, no\nsooner had she done so than she found herself flitting over rocks and\nrough places with perfect ease, and at such speed, that, when she\nlooked back, in a moment, she had already left the old woman far\nbehind, and out of sight. They were magical shoes; but, no matter how\nfast they skimmed over the ground, Dorel, out of pure love, continued\nto go before, talking and laughing and smoothing the way.\n\nOne by one Little One sold her jewels to buy bread, which she shared\nwith all the needy she chanced to meet. After many days there\nremained but one gem; and she wept because she had no more to give.\nBut, through her tears, she now, for the first time, fancied she could\nsee the spires and turrets of her beautiful home, though, as yet, very\nfar off.\n\n\"How fast I have come!\" said she, laughing with delight. \"But for\nthese magical shoes, and Dorel's pruning-knife, I should have been\neven now struggling at the foot of the hill.\"\n\nThen she looked down at her torn dress.\n\n\"What a sad plight I am in! no one will know me when I get home!\"\n\n\"Never fear!\" said the fairy: \"you are sure to be welcome.\"\n\nLittle One now held up her last jewel in the sunlight, while a\nstarving boy looked at it with eager eyes.\n\n\"Take it!\" said she, weeping with the tenderest pity. \"I only wish\nit were a diamond instead of a ruby,--a diamond as large as my heart!\"\n\n    [Illustration: THE LOST SYLPHID. Page 95.]\n\nThe boy blessed her with a tremulous voice. Little One pressed on,\nsinging softly to herself, till she came to a frightful chasm, full of\nwater.\n\n\"How shall I ever cross it!\" she cried in alarm.\n\n\"May I help you, fair Sylphid?\" said the grateful boy to whom she had\ngiven her last jewel. \"I can make a bridge in the twinkling of an\neye.\"\n\nSo saying, he threw across the roaring torrent a film which looked as\nfrail as any spider's web.\n\n\"It will bear you,\" said the Whisper: \"do not be afraid!\"\n\nSo Little One ventured upon the gossamer bridge, which was to the eye\nas delicate as mist; but to the feet as strong as adamant. She hushed\nher fears, and walked over it with a stout heart.\n\nNow, she was on the borders of the Summer-land. Here were the turrets\nand spires, the soft white clouds, the green fields, and sunny\nstreams. Instantly her long-lost wings appeared again; and she spread\nthem like a happy bird, and flew home. Oh, it was worth years of\nlonging and pain! She was held in tender embraces, and kissed lovingly\nby well-remembered friends. To her great surprise and delight, her\nfather and mother were both there--they had arrived at the Summer-land\nwhile seeking their Little One.\n\n\"Now I know,\" said her father, \"that my daughter was not dreaming when\nshe longed for her remembered home.\"\n\nLittle One looked at her soiled dress; but the stains had disappeared;\nand, most wonderful! all the jewels she had worn on her neck and\narms, and in her girdle, were there yet, burning with increased\nbrilliancy. Little One gazed again, and counted to see if any were\nmissing. Yes: two she had sold for bread were not there. It was the\njewels she had _given away_ which had come back in some mysterious\nmanner and were more resplendent than before.\n\n\"Ah!\" said she, with a beaming smile, \"now I know what it means when\nthey say, 'All you give, you will carry with you.' It was delightful\nto scatter my gems by the wayside; but I did not think they would all\nbe given back to me when I reached home!\"\n\nThen, intwining arms with a bright sylphid, she flew with her over the\ngardens in a trance of delight.\n\n\"Here,\" said Little One, \"is my own dear garden. I remember the border\nand the paths right well; but it never bore such golden fruit, it\nnever glowed with such beautiful flowers.\"\n\n\"Your fairy, the one you call Whisper, has taken care of it for your\nsake,\" said the sister sylphid. \"Do you know that those flowers, and\nthose trees with fruit like 'bonny beaten gold,' have been watered by\nyour tears, Little One? It is in this way they have attained their\nmatchless beauty and grace.\"\n\n\"_My tears_, little sister?\"\n\n\"Yes, your tears. Every one you shed upon earth, your fairy most\ncarefully preserved; and see what wonders have been wrought!\"\n\n\"If I had known that,\" said Little One clapping her hands, \"I would\nhave been _glad_ of all my troubles! I would have smiled through my\ntears!\"\n\nNow I know no more than I have told of this story of the Lost\nSylphid. I tell the tale as 'twas told to me; and I wish, with all my\nheart, it were true.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CASTLE OF GEMS.\n\n\nOnce upon a time, though I cannot tell when, and in what country I do\nnot now remember, there lived a maiden as fair as a lily, as gentle as\na dewdrop, and as modest as a violet. A pure, sweet name she had,--it\nwas Blanche.\n\nShe stood one evening, with her friend Victor, by the shore of a lake.\nNever had the youth or maiden seen the moonlight so enchanting; but\nthey did not know\n\n    \"It was midsummer day,\n    When all the fairy people\n    From elf-land come away.\"\n\nPresently, while they gazed at the lake, which shone like liquid\nemerald and sapphire and topaz, a boat, laden with strangely\nbeautiful beings, glided towards them across the waters. The fair\nvoyagers were clad in robes of misty blue with white mantles about\ntheir waists, and on their heads wreaths of valley-lilies.\n\nThey were all as fair as need be; but fairest of all was the\nhelms-woman, the queen of the fairies. Her face was soft and clear\nlike moonlight; and she wore a crown of nine large diamonds, which\nrefracted the evening rays, and formed nine lunar rainbows.\n\nThe fairies were singing a roundelay; and, as the melody floated over\nthe waters, Victor and Blanche listened with throbbing hearts. Fairy\nmusic has almost passed away from the earth; but those who hear it are\nstrangely moved, and have dreams of beautiful things which have been,\nand may be again.\n\n\"It makes me think of the days of long ago when there was no sin,\"\nwhispered Blanche.\n\n\"It makes me long to be a hero,\" answered Victor with a sparkling eye.\n\nAll the while the pearly boat was drifting toward the youth and\nmaiden; and, when it had touched the shore, the queen stepped out upon\nthe land as lightly as if she had been made entirely of dewdrops.\n\n\"I am Fontana,\" said she; \"and is this Blanche?\"\n\nShe laid her soft hand upon the maiden's shoulder; and Blanche thought\nshe would like to die then and there, so full was she of joy.\n\n\"I have heard of thy good heart, my maiden: now what would please thee\nmost?\" said the queen.\n\nBlanche bowed her head, and dared not speak.\n\nQueen Fontana smiled: when she smiled it was as if a soft cloud had\nslid away from the moon, revealing a beautiful light.\n\n\"Say pearls and diamonds,\" said Victor in her ear.\n\n\"I don't know,\" whispered Blanche: \"they are not the best things.\"\n\n\"No,\" said the queen kindly: \"pearls and diamonds are _not_ the best\nthings.\"\n\nThen Blanche knew that her whisper had been overheard, and she hid her\nface in her hands for shame. But the queen only smiled down on her,\nand, without speaking, dropped into the ground a little seed. Right at\nthe feet of Blanche, it fell; and, in a moment, two green leaves shot\nupward, and between them a spotless lily, which hung its head with\nmodest grace.\n\nVictor gazed at the perfect flower in wonder, and, before he knew it,\nsaid aloud, \"Ah, how like Blanche!\"\n\nThe queen herself broke it from the stem, and gave it to the maiden,\nsaying,--\n\n\"Take it! it is my choicest gift. Till it fades (which will never be),\nlove will be thine; and, in time to come, it will have power to open\nthe strongest locks, and swing back the heaviest doors.\n\n    \"'Gates of brass cannot withstand\n    One touch of this magic wand.'\"\n\nBlanche looked up to thank the queen; but no words came,--only tears.\n\n\"I see a wish in thine eyes,\" said Fontana.\n\n\"It is for Victor,\" faltered Blanche, at last: \"he wishes to be rich\nand great.\"\n\nThe queen looked grave.\n\n\"Shall I make him one of the great men of the earth, little Blanche?\nThen he may one day go to the ends of the world, and forget thee.\"\n\nBlanche only smiled, and Victor's cheek flushed.\n\n\"I shall be a great man,\" said he,--\"perhaps a prince; but, where I\ngo, Blanche shall go: she will be my wife.\"\n\n\"That is well,\" said the queen: \"never forget Blanche, for her love\nwill be your dearest blessing.\"\n\nThen, removing from her girdle a pair of spectacles, she placed them\nin the youth's hand. He drew back in surprise. \"Does she take me for\nan old man?\" thought he. He had expected a casket of gems at least;\nperhaps a crown.\n\n\"Wait,\" said Fontana: \"they are the eyes of Wisdom. When you have\nlearned their use, you will not despise my gift. Keep a pure heart,\nand always remember Blanche. And now farewell!\"\n\nSo saying, she moved on to the boat, floating over the ground as\nsoftly as a creeping mist.\n\nWhen Blanche awoke next morning, her first thought was, \"Happy are the\nmaidens who have sweet dreams!\" for she thought she had only been\nwandering in a midsummer's night's dream; so, when she saw her lily in\nthe broken pitcher where she had placed it, great was her delight. But\na change had come over it during the night. It was no longer a common\nlily,--its petals were large pearls, and the green leaves were now\ngreen emeralds. This strange thing had happened to the flower, that it\nmight never fade.\n\nAfter this, people looked at Blanche, and said, \"How is it? she grows\nfairer every day!\" and every one loved her; for the human heart has no\nchoice but to love what is good and gentle.\n\nAs for Victor, he at first put on his spectacles with a scornful\nsmile: but, when he had worn them a moment, he found them very\nwonderful things. When he looked through them, he could see people's\nthoughts written out on their faces; he could easily decipher the fine\nwriting which you see traced on green leaves; and found there were\nlong stories written on pebbles in little black and gray dots.\n\nWhen he wore the spectacles, he looked so wise, that Blanche hardly\ndared speak to him. She saw that one day he was to become a great man.\n\nAt last Victor said he must leave his home, and sail across the seas.\nTears filled the eyes of Blanche; but the youth whispered,--\n\n\"I am going away to find a home for you and me: so adieu, dearest\nBlanche!\"\n\nNow Victor thought the ship in which he sailed moved very slowly; for\nhe longed to reach the land which he could see through his magic\nspectacles: it was a beautiful kingdom, rich with mines of gold and\nsilver.\n\nWhen the ship touched shore, the streets were lined with people who\nwalked to and fro with sad faces. The king's daughter, a beautiful\nyoung maiden, was very ill; and it was feared she must die.\n\nVictor asked one of the people if there was no hope.\n\nIt so happened that this man was the greatest physician in the kingdom\nand he answered,--\n\n\"Alas, there is no hope!\"\n\nThen Victor went to a distant forest where he knew a healing spring\nwas to be found. Very few remembered it was there; and those who had\nseen it did not know of its power to heal disease.\n\nVictor filled a crystal goblet with the precious water, and carried\nit to the palace. The old king shook his head sadly, but consented to\nlet the attendants moisten the parched lips of the princess with the\nwater, as it could do no harm. Far from doing harm, it wrought a great\ngood; and, in time, the royal maiden was restored to health.\n\nThen, for gratitude, the king would have given his daughter to Victor\nfor a wife; but Victor remembered Blanche, and knew that no other\nmaiden must be bride of his.\n\nNot long after this, the king was lost overboard at sea during a\nstorm. Now the people must have a new ruler. They determined to choose\na wise and brave man; and, young as he was, no man could be found\nbraver and wiser than Victor: so the people elected him for their\nking. Thus Fontana's gift of the eyes of Wisdom had made him truly\n\"one of the great men of earth.\"\n\nIn her humble home, Blanche dreamed every night of Victor, and hoped\nhe would grow good, if he did not become great; and Victor remembered\nBlanche, and knew that her love was his dearest blessing.\n\n\"This old palace,\" thought he, \"will never do for my beautiful bride.\"\n\nSo he called together his people, and told them he must have a castle\nof gems. Some of the walls were to be of rubies, some of emeralds,\nsome of pearls. There was to be any amount of beaten gold for doors\nand pillars; and the ceilings were to be of milk-white opals, with a\nrosy light which comes and goes.\n\nAll was done as he desired; and, when the castle of gems was finished,\nit would need a pen of jasponyx dipped in rainbows to describe it.\n\nVictor thought he would not have a guard of soldiers for his castle,\nbut would lock the four golden gates with a magic key, so that no one\ncould enter unless the gates should swing back of their own accord.\n\nWhen the castle of gems was just completed, and not a soul was in it,\nVictor locked the gates with a magic key, and then dropped the key\ninto the ocean.\n\n\"Now,\" thought he, \"I have done a wise thing. None but the good and\ntrue can enter my castle of gems. The gates will not swing open for\nmen with base thoughts or proud hearts!\"\n\nThen he hid himself under the shadow of a tree, and watched the people\ntrying to enter. But they were proud men, and so the gates would not\nopen.\n\nKing Victor laughed, and said to himself,--\n\n\"I have done a wise thing with my magic key. How safe I shall be in\nmy castle of gems!\"\n\nSo he stepped out of his hiding-place, and said to the people,--\n\n\"None but the good and true can get in.\"\n\nThen he tried to go in himself; but the gates would not move.\n\nThe king bowed his head in shame, and walked back to his old palace.\n\n\"Alas!\" said he to himself, \"wise and great as I am, I thought _I_\ncould go in. I see it must be because I am filled with pride. Let me\nhide my face; for what would Blanche say if she knew, that, because my\nheart is proud, I am shut out of my own castle? I am not worthy that\nshe should love me; but I hope I shall learn of her to be humble and\ngood.\"\n\nThe next day he sailed for the home of his childhood. When Blanche saw\nhim, she blushed, and cast down her eyes; but Victor knew they were\nfull of tears of joy. He held her hand, and whispered,--\n\n\"Will you go with me and be my bride, beautiful Blanche?\"\n\n\"I will go with you,\" she answered softly; and Victor's heart\nrejoiced.\n\nAll the while Blanche never dreamed that he was a great prince, and\nthat the men who came with him were his courtiers.\n\nWhen they reached Victor's kingdom, and the people shouted \"Long live\nthe queen!\" Blanche veiled her face, and trembled; for Victor\nwhispered in her ear that the shouts were for her. And, as the people\nsaw her beautiful face through her gossamer veil, they cried all the\nmore loudly,--\n\n\"Long live Queen Blanche! Thrice welcome, fair lady!\"\n\nThe sun was sinking in the west, and his rays fell with dazzling\nsplendor upon the castle of gems. When Blanche saw the silent, closed\ncastle and its golden gates, she remembered the words of Queen\nFontana, who had said that her lily should have power to \"open the\nstrongest locks, and swing back the heaviest doors.\"\n\nLike one walking in a dream, she led Victor toward the resplendent\ncastle. She touched, with her lily, the lock which fastened one of the\ngates.\n\n    \"Gates of gold could not withstand\n    One touch of that magic wand.\"\n\nIn an instant, the hinges trembled; and the massive door swung open so\nfar, that forty people could walk in side by side. Then it slowly\nclosed, and locked itself without noise.\n\nOne of the people who passed in was the king, whose heart was no\nlonger proud. The others, who had entered unwittingly, could not speak\nfor wonder. Some of them were poor, and some were lame or blind; but\nall were good and true.\n\nAt the rising of the moon a wonderful thing came to pass. The people\nentered the castle of gems, and became beautiful. This was through the\npower of the magic lily.\n\nNow there were no more crooked backs and lame feet and sightless eyes;\nand the king looked at these people, who were beautiful as well as\ngood, and declared he would have them live in the castle; and the\ngentlemen should be knights; and the ladies, maids of honor.\n\nTo this day Victor and Blanche rule the kingdom; and such is the charm\nof the lily,--so like the pure heart of the queen,--that the people\nare becoming gentle and good.\n\nUntil Queen Fontana shall call for the magic spectacles and the lily\nof pearl, it is believed that Victor and Blanche will live in the\ncastle of gems, though the time should be a hundred years.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ELF OF LIGHT.\n\nA NORSE TALE.\n\n\nIn the strange island of Iceland, thrown up, by fire, from the depths\nof the sea, there once lived a lad who worshipped the god Odin, and\nwas taught from two absurd books called the Eddas. He wished to fight\nand die on a battle-field, so that his soul might cross a\nrainbow-bridge, and dwell in the beautiful halls of Valhalla.\nThere--so the Eddas say--are the chosen heroes, who are forever\nfighting all day, and feasting all night.\n\nThus, instead of a Bible, young Thule studied wild fairy-tales; yet,\nfor all his heathenish training, he had some noble traits, which a\nChristian lad might imitate.\n\nHe lived with his widowed mother at the edge of a forest. The snow\npiled itself in drifts, and the wind howled through the trees, and\ncrept in at the windows; for the cottage was old, and a blind\nhurricane might almost have mistaken it for a heap of brushwood. But\nThule was quite as happy as if the hut had been a palace. He loved the\nwinter-beauty of his mother's face, and the silvery hair half hidden\nunder her black cap. All the fire they burned was made of the dry\nsticks he gathered in the forest, and more than half the money they\nused was earned by his small hands.\n\nIn one of the ice-months of the year, when the weather was sharper\nthan a serpent's tooth, Thule came home from a hard day's work; and,\nthe chillier he grew, the more he whistled to keep up a brave heart.\nLooking at the horizon before him, he saw the cold glare which we call\nNorthern Lights, but which he knew to be the flickering of helmets and\nshields and spears.\n\n\"The warlike maidens are out to-night,\" thought the boy: \"they are\ngoing to the battle-fields to decide who is worthy to be slain. How I\nlove to see the sky lighted up with the flash of their armor! Odin,\ngrant I may one day be a hero, and walk over the bridge of a rainbow!\"\n\nThen Thule went to his whistling again; but, just as he struck into\nthe forest where the deep shadows lay, he heard a faint moan, which\nsounded like a human voice, or might have been a sudden gust of wind\nin a hollow tree.\n\n\"Perchance it is some poor creature even colder than I,\" thought the\nboy: \"I hope not a _troll_!\"\n\nHurrying to the spot whence the sound came, he found an ugly,\nlong-nosed dwarf lying on the ground, nearly perishing with cold. It\nwas growing late, and the boy himself was benumbed; but he went\nbriskly to work, chafing the hands and face of the stranger, even\ntaking off his own blue jacket to wrap it about the dwarf's neck.\n\n\"Poor old soul, you shall not die of cold!\" said he; then, helping him\nto rise, he added cheerily, \"We will go to my mother's cottage, and\nhave a warm supper of oat-cakes and herrings; and our fire of dry\nboughs will do you good.\"\n\nThe noble boy knew there was barely supper enough for two, but did not\nmind going hungry to bed for charity's sake. In the ear of his heart,\nhe heard the words of his mother:--\n\n\"Never fear starving, my son, but freely share your last loaf with the\nneedy.\"\n\nThey walked through the forest, the old man leaning heavily on the\nyouth's shoulder.\n\n\"Why should you befriend a poor wretch who cannot repay you?\" whined\nthe dwarf in a hollow voice which startled Thule, it was so like the\necho sent back by a mountain or a rock.\n\n\"I do not ask or wish to be repaid,\" was the reply. \"Don't you know\nwhat the proverb says? 'Do good, and throw it into the sea; if the\nfishes don't know it, _Odin_ will!'\"\n\n\"Yes: Odin shall know it, never fear,\" answered the dwarf; \"but, as I\nhappen to be informed that your tea-table is not quite large enough\nfor three, I think I will decline your invitation to supper. Really,\nmy lad,\" he continued, \"it would delight me to do you a little favor;\nfor, though I am only a poor dwarf, I know how to be grateful. By the\nway, have you seen such a thing hereabouts as a green alder-tree?\"\n\n\"A green alder-tree in winter-time!\" cried Thule.\n\n\"A curious thing, indeed,\" said the dwarf; \"but I chanced to see one\nthe other night in my rambles. Ah! look, here it is right before your\neyes.\"\n\nAll the other forest-trees were dry and hard, their hearts frozen\nwithin them; but this tree was alive, hidden behind a clump of firs.\nWhen Thule began to dig about its roots, it seemed to come out of the\nground of its own free will, and to lie over his shoulders as if it\nwould caress him.\n\n\"Take home the little tree, and plant it before your door, my lad.\"\n\nThe youth turned to thank the stranger; but he had vanished. Then\nThule ran home with all speed to tell his mother of the little old man\nwho had faded from his sight like a wreath of smoke.\n\n\"Now I wonder what it is you have seen,\" said the good woman, raising\nher hands in surprise. \"Was he brown, my son, with a long nose?\"\n\n\"As brown as a nut, mother, with no end of nose.\"\n\n\"Just as I supposed, my child! That dwarf is a wonderful\ncreature,--one of the night-elves, a race gifted with great\nunderstanding. Know, my son, that he carves runes upon stones; and he\nno doubt assisted in making Thor's hammer, that terrible instrument\nwhich can crush the skull of a giant.\"\n\n\"One thing I observed,\" said the boy: \"he blinked at that flashing in\nthe sky, which people call Northern Lights; he had to shade his eyes\nwith his funny little hand.\"\n\n\"Did he, indeed? Poor Elf! Light is painful to his race; and I have\neven heard that a stroke of sunshine is able to turn them into\nstones. I am almost afraid of this little tree,\" added the good mother\nmusingly. \"You know what we read in the holy Eddas: Both the alder and\nthe ash trees should be held sacred; for Odin formed man from the ash,\nand woman from the alder. Nevertheless, the night-elf could not have\nmeant to do you a mischief. Let us plant the tree as he directed.\"\n\n\"What, in the frozen ground, under the snow?\"\n\nBut it now, for the first time, appeared that there was a spot of\nearth near the south window, which must have been waiting for the\ntree, since it was as soft and warm as if the sun had been shining on\nit all the year. Here they planted the alder; and Thule brought water,\nand moistened the roots.\n\nNext morning the tree seemed to have grown a foot higher; and by\ndaylight its leaves showed a silver lining.\n\n\"May Odin favor my pretty alder!\" said Thule; \"nor let the frost pinch\nit, nor the winds blacken its green buds!\"\n\nThule went into the woods again; and, as he was whistling at his work,\nhe happened to look down, and there, on the ground, at his feet, lay a\npurse, well lined with gold. He counted the pieces: fifty, all bright\nand new.\n\n\"I will go to the town,\" thought the boy, shaking his head and sighing\n(for the gold was very tempting), \"I will go to the town, and ask who\nhas lost a purse with fifty pieces of precious gold. Ah, me! I wish I\ncould keep it! then we should swim in herrings and oil; and who knows\nbut, for once in my life, I might even get a taste of venison?\"\n\nBut next moment he loosened his greedy clutch at the purse. \"No matter\nhow bravely it shines! it is not _my_ gold; and it is too heavy for\nme to carry. Stolen money is worse than a mill-stone about one's neck,\nso my mother says.\"\n\n\"Keep the purse, little boy,\" said a sweet voice close by his elbow.\nHe turned, and saw a beautiful child, as radiant as a sunbeam, and\nclad in garments of delicate and transparent texture.\n\n\"I will be your friend, little boy. That purse was dropped by a lady\nwho wears a fur cloak and long veil. If she asks for her treasure, I\ncan say it fell into a hole in the ground. Everybody believes me:\nnever fear!\"\n\n\"Poor misguided angel!\" said the boy, amazed by her wondrous beauty no\nless than by her apparent want of truth. \"You are, indeed, a lovely\nlittle tempter; but I have a dear mother at home, and I love her\nbetter than a million pieces of gold. I must go to the town, and seek\nout this lady you mention, who wears a fur cloak and long veil.\"\n\n\"Nay, if you will be so stupid,\" said the shining child, \"why, I will\neven go with you, and show you the way.\"\n\nSo, gliding gracefully before the bewildered youth, she led him out of\nthe forest, into the most crowded part of the city, up to the door of\na splendid mansion; but, when Thule turned his head only an instant,\nshe was gone, and no trace of her was to be seen: she seemed to have\nmelted into sunshine.\n\nThe lady of the house received the purse with thanks, and would gladly\nhave given Thule a piece of the gold; but, much as the boy longed for\nit, he put it aside, saying, \"No, madam: my mother assures me I must\nbe honest without the hope of reward. She would not like me to take\nwages for not being a thief!\"\n\nThe next morning the alder-tree had grown another foot; and Thule and\nhis mother watched the growing leaves, and touched them with reverent\nfingers. They were certainly of a tender green, lined with shining\nsilver.\n\n\"May Odin favor my pretty alder!\" said Thule; \"nor let the frost pinch\nit, nor the winds blacken its green buds!\"\n\nThen Thule kissed his mother, and trudged off to the forest as usual.\nBut he seemed doomed to adventures; for this time he was met by three\narmed men, who were roaming the country as if seeking something.\n\n\"Prithee, little urchin,\" said one of the men, \"can you tell us what\nhas become of a young alder-tree, whose green leaves are lined with\nsilver?\"\n\n\"I dug up an alder-bush, kind sirs,\" replied the boy, trembling, and\nremembering that his mother had said she was almost afraid of that\nlittle tree.\n\n\"There are many alder-bushes,\" said another of the men gruffly; \"but\nonly one is green at this time of year, and has silver-lined leaves.\nIt was placed here by command of the giant Loki, and no one was to\ntouch it under pain of death; for, when his mountain-garden should be\nlaid out in the spring, the tree was to be uprooted, and planted\ntherein.\"\n\nThule grew almost as stiff and white as if a frost-giant had suddenly\nbreathed on him. He knew that Loki was a pitiless god, feared by all,\nand beloved by none,--a god who had an especial grudge against the\nwhole human race.\n\n\"I will hold my peace,\" thought Thule. \"I will never confess that the\ntree I carried away has silver-lined leaves. I will hasten home, pluck\nup the bush, and burn it: then who will be the wiser?\"\n\nBut Thule, in spite of his trembling, could not forget his good\nmother's counsel:--\n\n\"Your words, my boy, let them be truth, and nothing but truth, though\na sword should be swinging over your head.\"\n\nThen, as soon as his voice returned to him, he confessed that the tree\nhe had removed was really just such an one as the men described, and\nbegged for mercy, because, as he said, he had committed the sin\nignorantly, not knowing the mandate of the terrible giant.\n\nBut the men bade Thule lead them to his mother's house, and point out\nhis stolen treasure; declaring that they could show no mercy; for,\nwhen Loki had made a decree, no man should alter it by one jot or one\ntittle.\n\n\"Oh!\" thought the unfortunate boy, wringing his hands, and trembling\ntill the woollen tassel on his cap danced a gallopade, \"oh, if the\ncruel night-elf, who led me into this mischief, would only come\nforward now, and help me out of it! But, alas, it is of no avail to\ninvoke him; for it is now broad daylight, and the sun would strike him\ninto a stone image in a twinkling.\"\n\nWhen Thule, followed by the messengers of Loki, had reached the door\nof his cottage, he found his gray-haired mother sprinkling the roots\nof the beautiful alder, and fondling its leaves with innocent\npleasure. At sight of the armed men, she started back in affright.\n\n\"It is indeed the giant's tree,\" said the men to Thule. \"Pluck it up,\nand follow us with it to Loki's castle on the mountain.\"\n\n\"To Loki's castle!\" shrieked the wretched mother. \"Then he must pass\na frightful wilderness, be assailed by the frost-giants; and, if there\nbe any breath left in him, Loki will dash it out at a glance! Have\nmercy on a poor old mother, O good soldiers!\"\n\nThe unhappy boy touched the tree, and it came out of the ground of its\nown free will; and, in a trice, stood on its feet, shook out its\nbranches into arms, and in another moment was no longer a tree, but a\nchild, with a beauty as dazzling as sunshine.\n\n\"Unfortunate men!\" said she, in a voice whose angriest tones were\nsweeter than the music of an AEolian harp, \"unfortunate are you in\nbeing the servants of Loki! Go, tell your cruel master that the\nschemes he has plotted against me and mine have all failed: my\nenchantment is over forever. Yonder boy,\" said she, pointing to little\nThule, \"has saved me. I was, and still remain, an elf of light, as\nplayful and harmless as sunshine. The merciless Loki, enraged at the\nlove I bear the children of men, changed me to a little alder-tree,\nwhich is the emblem of girlhood. But he had no power to keep me in\nthat form forever. He was obliged to make a condition, and he made the\nhardest one that his artful mind could invent: 'Since you love mortals\nso dearly,' said he, 'no one but a mortal shall free you from your\nimprisonment. You shall remain a tree till a good child shall touch\nyou,--a child who is generous enough to SHARE HIS LAST LOAF WITH A\nSTRANGER, honest enough to GIVE BACK A REWARD FOR HIS HONESTY, brave\nenough to SPEAK THE TRUTH WHEN A LIE WOULD HAVE SAVED HIS LIFE. Long\nshall you wait for such a deliverer!'\n\n\"Now how amazed will Loki be when he learns that this little boy has\nbeen tempted in all these particulars, yet proves true. My poor\nsoldiers, you may return whence you came, for the alder-tree will\nnever rustle its silver leaves in the mountain-garden of Loki.\"\n\nThen the men disappeared, not sorry that the good boy had escaped his\nthreatened doom.\n\nThule, looking at the beautiful elf so lately a tree, could hardly\ntrust his own eyes; and I fancy that many a boy, even at the present\nday, would have felt rather bewildered under the circumstances.\n\n\"Shining child!\" said he: \"you look vastly like the wonderful little\nbeing who led me out of the forest yesterday.\"\n\n\"That may well be,\" replied the elf of light; \"for she is my sister.\nThe brown dwarf who pointed out to you the alder-tree is also an\nexcellent friend of mine, though, strange to say, I have never seen\nhim. We love to aid each other in all possible ways; yet we can never\nmeet, for there is a fatality in my eyes which would strike him dead.\nHe had heard of Thule, the little woodcutter who was called so brave\nand generous and true. He tried you, you see; and so did my frolicsome\nsister, who was fairly ablaze with delight when she found you could\nnot be tempted to steal!\"\n\nThule's mother had stood all the while on the threshold, overawed and\ndumb. Now she came forward, and said,--\n\n\"I am prouder to-day than I should be if my son had slain ten men on\nthe battle-field!\"\n\nThe beautiful elf of light, penetrated with gratitude and admiration,\nremained Thule's fast friend as long as he lived. She gave the lad\nand his mother an excellent home, and made them happy all the days of\ntheir lives.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRINCESS HILDA.\n\n\nPrincess Hildegarde sat at an open window, looking out upon her garden\nof flowers. She was very beautiful, with a face as fair and sweet as a\nrose. Not far off sat, watching her, her young cousin Zora, with a\nfrown on her brow.\n\nThere was bitter hatred in Zora's heart because Hildegarde was rich\nand she was poor; because Hildegarde would, in time, be a queen, and\nshe one of her subjects. Moreover, Hildegarde was so beautiful and\ngood that the fame of her loveliness had spread far and wide; and it\nwas for her beauty that Zora hated her more than for any thing else.\n\nIn childhood Zora had been very fair; and the courtiers had petted\nher, and pronounced her even fairer than the princess; but her beauty\nhad never meant any thing but bright eyes and cherry cheeks: so it\ncould not last. If she had only cherished pure thoughts and kind\nwishes, she might still have been as lovely as Hilda; but who does not\nknow that evil feelings write themselves on the face?\n\nJealousy had pulled her mouth down at the corners; deceit had given it\na foolish smirk; spite had plowed an ugly frown in her brow; while she\nhad tried so many arts to make her rich brown skin as delicately white\nas Hilda's, that it was changed to the tint of chrome yellow.\n\nIt was said in those days, that Zora was in the power of wicked\nfairies, who twisted her features into the shape that pleased them\nbest.\n\nAt any rate, how the amiable Princess Hilda was to blame for all\nthese deformities it would be hard to say; and she little dreamed of\nthe malice in her cousin's heart.\n\nBut, while Hilda was looking out of the window, a noble knight passed\nthat way; and so delighted was he with the rare sweetness of her face,\nthat he forgot himself, and paused a moment to gaze at her. The\nprincess blushed, and let fall the silken curtain; but Zora had seen\nthe knight, and knew he was the royal Prince Reginald. She ground her\nteeth in rage; for she had determined that the prince should never see\nher beautiful cousin.\n\n\"They shall not meet,\" said she to herself: \"no, not if there are bad\nfairies enough to prevent it.\"\n\nBut, when the princess looked up, Zora was smiling very sweetly. Who\ncould have dreamed that she was thinking of nothing but how to ruin\nthe peace of her gentle cousin?\n\nZora could hardly wait for nightfall, so eager was she to do her\nwicked work. When it was dark, and all was quiet, she stole out of the\ncastle, wearing a black mantle which hid her face.\n\n\"Now,\" thought she, \"no one can recognize me, and I will seek the\nfairy Gerula.\"\n\nYou must know that Gerula was one of the most wicked and hideous\nsprites that ever existed. She dwelt in a cave far from the abodes of\nmen. It was hidden by huge trees through which the wind never ceased\nhowling. At evening owls hooted overhead, and many creeping things\nwound their length along the ground. The more toads and snakes she\ncould see about her, the better was she pleased; for fairies, as well\nas mortals, are attracted by what is akin to themselves.\n\nShe was descended from a race called kobolds or goblins; and she loved\nall the metals which lie under the earth as well as the living things\nwhich crawl up out of its bosom.\n\nSo acute were her ears, that she heard Zora's steps from a great\ndistance. She brushed back her elf-locks, and gave a low grunt like\nsome wild beast. It pleased her that the Lady Zora should find need of\nher counsel; but, when Zora had reached the cave, the cunning fairy\npretended to be sleeping, and started up in seeming surprise.\n\n\"What brings a body here at this time of night?\" said she.\n\n\"I am Lady Zora. I have come, sweet fairy, to beg a favor. The\nPrincess Hilda is hateful to me: work one of your charms on her, and\nlet me see her face no more.\"\n\nThe old fairy pricked up her ears and said to herself, \"Ha! ha! I\nwill have nice sport out o' this!\" then said aloud, \"Say, what harm\nhas the princess done to my rosebud, my lily, my pride?\"\n\nZora's eyes flashed. \"Prince Reginald has seen her; and to see her is\nto love her. My heart is set on wedding Prince Reginald. Take her out\nof his way!\"\n\nJust then a broad gleam of moonlight fell on the treacherous maiden.\nIt was strange how much she looked like the cruel fairy; and Gerula\ngazed on her with delight.\n\n\"My beautiful viper!\" said she, using the sweetest pet-name she could\nthink of, \"I will do your bidding. But first say what you will give me\nif I put Hildegarde out of your way.\"\n\nThen she chuckled, and rubbed her hands in great glee. Zora started\nback in alarm.\n\n\"I did not know you sold your charms for gold; but I would give you\nhalf my fortune if need be, any thing, to be rid of Hilda.\"\n\nThe fairy chuckled again. \"Just the damsel for me,\" thought she.\n\n\"I will give you a diamond necklace,\" said Zora: \"it is worth a small\nkingdom, and was given me by my cousin Hilda. You can surely ask no\nmore?\"\n\n\"Diamonds!\" said the goblin, snapping her fingers. \"What think you I\ncare for them? Do I not tire of stooping to pick them up? for they are\ngiven me by my cousins, the gnomes, any day. No diamonds for me! Keep\nthem and your gold. I ask but one thing, my dear.\"\n\nHere she spoke in low hissing tones, more terrible than her loudest\ncroakings.\n\n\"Promise me, if you do not marry Prince Reginald, you will let me\nchange you into a charming green snake.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" cried Zora, turning pale, \"who ever heard of such a cruel\nrequest?\"\n\n\"Cruel, am I?\" said the goblin in delight. \"Oh, I must seem cruel to\none who is so gentle and lovely as Hilda!\"\n\n\"Alas,\" cried Zora, \"I may fail to win Prince Reginald.\"\n\n\"All the better,\" chuckled the fairy. \"When you become a snake, you\nand I shall enjoy each other's society, I assure you.\"\n\nZora shuddered.\n\n\"But it's all one to me,\" added the goblin, beginning to yawn. \"On the\nwhole, I think you may as well go home.\"\n\nZora wrung her hands, and groaned.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the gnome: \"go back to the castle. Ugh! I would sooner\ntrust one of my winking owls to do a daring deed than you! Fie upon\nyou! Creep back to your bed, and let Hilda marry the prince: a lovely\npair they will make. Off with you, for I have to make up my sleep I\nhave lost.\"\n\nBut Zora was thinking.\n\n\"I am silly indeed!\" she said to herself. \"Why do I fear that I shall\nnot win the love of Prince Reginald? Only Hilda stands in my way.\"\nThen she said aloud,--\n\n\"Lovely being! sweetest of all the race! Great as is my horror, I will\nconsent to your will.\"\n\nJust then was heard a crackling in the dry leaves.\n\n\"Only a snake,\" said the goblin. Zora trembled.\n\n\"Will you promise me that Hilda will never trouble me again?\"\n\n\"I promise,\" said the goblin, with one of her merriest laughs, as\nloud and hoarse as the song of a frog.\n\nJust then a sigh was heard not far from the place where Zora stood.\n\"There is some one here: we are watched,\" she whispered. But Gerula\nthought it the howling of the wind; for she was busily musing over the\ncharm she was about to obtain of her cousins, the gnomes, and her eyes\nand ears were not as sharp as usual.\n\nShe took from the ground her crooked staff.\n\n\"Hush,\" said she; \"if the sky were to fall on your head, you are not\nto speak; for now begins the charm.\"\n\nThen she drew a circle three times on the ground, with her staff, and\nsaid in low tones,--\n\n    \"Hither, ye cousins, that come at my call:\n      The princess is young and fair;\n    Mix me a charm that shall bring her to woe\n      Spin me your vilest snare.\"\n\nA mist arose, in which Zora could see dim figures, one after another.\nZora held her breath. Gerula muttered again in low tones,--\n\n    \"Hilda is gentle, and dreams of no guile;\n      The little gnomes sit and weep;\n    'Make her,--if _must_ be,--a snowy wee lamb,\n      In the fold with her father's sheep.'\"\n\nZora clapped her hands in delight. But just then, a faint sound was\nheard, as of some one talking between the teeth. Then Zora spoke, and\nthe charm was broken. She did not intend to speak; but asked, \"What\nnoise was that?\" before she thought.\n\n\"You have broken the charm,\" said the fairy. \"The soft-hearted gnomes\nare unwilling to punish Hilda; but I hoped, by my craft, I could force\nthem to keep her a lamb forever; or, at most, to let her grow to a\nsheep, and die by the knife.\n\n\"I will now weave a new charm; but I fear me they will repent; and\nHilda will not be got out of the way, after all. Not a word more, I\nwarn you.\"\n\nSo saying, the goblin made another circle three times, on the ground,\nand again muttered,--\n\n    \"How long is fair Hilda a snowy wee lamb?\n      The little gnomes cry, 'We fear\n    Till comes a brave lion so tender and true,\n      She lives by his side a year.'\"\n\nZora clapped her hands again. \"That is well,\" said she, \"for never was\na lion seen who could let a little helpless lamb pass his way without\ntearing it in pieces.\"\n\n\"True,\" said the gnome, well pleased, \"it has worked well. Hilda will\nnever trouble you again: so creep home softly, and go to your rest:\ndream of bats and creeping snakes; and to-morrow, at sunrise, ask\nyour cousin to walk with you in the park. Now adieu!\"\n\n\"Adieu, sweetest and best of fairies!\" said Zora, drawing her silken\nmantle closely about her face. As she left the hideous cave, snakes\nhissed after her, and a bat flew in her face; but she had sold herself\nto evil, and walked on without fear of the creatures she so strongly\nresembled.\n\nNext morning, at the first peep of the sun, she cried, \"Awake, dearest\nHilda, joy of my life, and walk with me in the park. I have lost my\ndiamond necklace; and last night I dreamed it was lying in the grass.\"\n\nSo Princess Hildegarde opened her eyes, and hastened to follow her\ncousin; for her heart was quickly moved to any act of kindness.\n\n\"What a fine flock of sheep!\" cried Hilda, as they were walking in\nthe park. \"Such innocent\"----\n\nShe would have said more, but the words on her tongue were suddenly\nchanged to tender bleatings; and even as Zora stood looking at her,\nshe crouched down on all fours, dwindled in size, was enveloped in\nwhite fleece, and became a dumb lamb.\n\nOverwhelmed with horror and surprise, she raised her pleading, tearful\neyes to the face of her cousin. But Zora gave a mocking laugh, and\nsaid, pointing her finger at her,--\n\n\"Who now is the heir of the throne? Will they set the royal crown on a\nsheep's head, think you? Bravo, sweet creature! You may stand now\nbetween me and Prince Reginald as much as you please. It's all my\nwork. I tell you once for all, I hate you, Hildegarde.\"\n\nWas this Zora's return for her cousin's love? The princess would fain\nhave expressed her grief and amazement.\n\n\"Pray don't try to talk, my bonny wee thing! It is not one of your\ngifts, at present. Your voice has ceased to be musical. I can sing now\nas well as you. Go to nibbling grass, deary, and a long life to you!\"\n\nThen the treacherous Zora turned on her heel, and left her poor cousin\nto her mute despair.\n\nA search was made far and wide for the missing princess. Forests were\nhunted, rivers were dragged; but without avail. Deep gloom fell on the\npeople, and the queen nearly died of sorrow. They all believed Hilda\ndead, all but Zora, who knew too well her cruel fate.\n\nThen Zora was treated like the king's daughter. Wherever she went,\nthere were servants to follow her; yet none loved her, and behind her\nback they made wry faces, and said she looked like one who was\ntormented by evil fairies.\n\nBut, alas for Zora, nothing more was seen of Prince Reginald. She\nwatched the windows day after day, hoping to see him ride by on his\ncoal-black steed; but he never came. Then she grew crosser than ever,\nand the frown on her brow ploughed deeper still. She dreamed every\nnight of horrible goblins and slender green snakes.\n\nAll the while, poor Hildegarde roamed about the park. The other lambs\nwere content to nip the sweet grass, and frisk in the sun; but the\nprincess remembered something better, for her soul did not sleep.\n\nThe king himself, in his walks, was struck with the beauty of the\nlamb; its fleece was far softer, finer, and whiter than was common.\nHe said to his chief shepherd, \"Watch well yonder snow-white lamb, and\ngive it particular care.\"\n\nFor there was something in its soft dark eyes, as they were raised to\nhis face, which stirred the king's heart, though he knew not why.\n\nOne day the city was thrown into a great tumult. A lion had been seen\nin the thicket which bordered the park. The huntsmen, hearing of it,\nstole out privately to waylay him in a snare. He was caught alive by\nthe king's favorite huntsman. It was agreed that such a fine lion had\nnever been seen before; and the king ordered a strong iron cage for\nthe beast, and made his favorite huntsman his keeper.\n\nNow the cage was in the midst of the park; and such was the terror of\nthe sheep and deer, that none of them went near it.\n\n\"I will go,\" thought poor Hildegarde; \"let the lion tear me in\npieces. Sooner would I perish, than live on, a poor wee lamb all my\ndays.\"\n\nSo she went up to the cage, though with a faint heart; but the lion\nput his paw out of the bars, and stroked her face, as if he would bid\nher welcome. The keeper reported the fact with great surprise.\n\nIt may be that the beautiful brown eyes of the lamb tamed the fierce\nspirit of the lion; for they were human eyes, full of Hildegarde's own\nsoul. Be that as it may, the lamb went every day to the cage, till the\nlion learned to watch for her, and gave a low growl of joy when he saw\nher coming. At last the keeper ventured to drop her carefully into the\ncage. The lion was beside himself with joy; and, after that, the lamb\nwas placed in the cage every morning, and only taken out at night.\n\nThen the king invited all the noblemen into his park, to see the\nstrange sight of a lion and a lamb living together in peace. And all\nthe while Hildegarde loved her shaggy companion, and asked herself\nevery day how it could be that a lion should have such speaking eyes\nand such a tender heart. But she almost believed that he was a human\nbeing, shut up, like herself, in a cruel disguise.\n\nAt last, when a whole year had gone by, the time came for Hilda to be\ndisenchanted; for the good little gnomes had declared that if she\ncould live for a twelvemonth in peace with a lion, the charm would\nthen be at an end.\n\nHilda did not know this; but awoke at sunrise, and, going to drink,\nsaw the image of her old self in the fountain; and faint voices\nrepeated in chorus these lines:--\n\n    \"Thrice welcome, sweet Hilda! the little gnomes say\n      At sunrise their charms shall end;\n    So go to the lion, and open the cage;\n      The prince is your own true friend.\"\n\nThis was so sudden and unexpected that the happy Hilda could hardly\nbelieve her senses. She gazed at her jewelled fingers; she touched her\nvelvet robe. \"It is Hildegarde,\" said she dreamily; \"where has she\nstayed so long?\"\n\nShe went to the cage; and, finding the key hanging on the outside,\nwould fain have freed the poor lion, but thought of the terror it\nwould cause the sheep and deer, and dared not do it.\n\nShe put her soft white arms within the bars, saying,--\n\n\"You have been a true friend to the little white lamb. She has found\nher tongue again, and can say so. Kind old lion, gentle prisoner,\nHildegarde will not forget you.\"\n\nThe noble beast looked at the disenchanted princess, and the next\ninstant was changed to his true form; and, in place of a tawny lion,\nit was the brave Prince Reginald. Hilda blushed with joyful surprise,\nand would have taken down the key to unlock the cage, but the prince\nsaid,--\n\n\"Loveliest Hildegarde, will you be my bride? Speak before you unlock\nthe cage; for, if you say nay, Reginald must again become a dumb\nbeast, and, as he has been for a year, so will he be for the rest of\nhis days.\"\n\nHildegarde cast down her eyes, and answered, \"If so be the lion and\nthe lamb could live side by side for a year, may not Reginald and\nHilda dwell together in peace?\"\n\n\"Then,\" said the joyful Prince Reginald, \"I pray thee unlock the\ncage.\"\n\nNow, as they walked together in the park, the prince told Hildegarde\nthat he had loved her for a twelvemonth and a day.\n\nHe described Zora's visit to the cruel goblin. He said that he himself\nhad overheard the two talking together, had ground his teeth, and\nsighed. Then the gnomes, seeing his grief, had come asking him if he\nwould be changed for a year, and maybe for life, into a lion; and for\nHildegarde's sake he had gladly consented.\n\nHearing all these things, the grateful princess wept, and said,--\n\n\"Now I know that Prince Reginald is my own true friend.\"\n\nThe prince led Hilda to the palace, and presented her to the king and\nqueen. Great was the wonder, and loud the rejoicing throughout the\nland.\n\nThe treacherous Zora was seen no more, but was changed into a slender\ngreen snake; and the king said she deserved her fate; \"for, mark\nyou,\" cried he, \"there is no crime worse than to play false to those\nwhom we pretend to love.\"\n\nBut Prince Reginald and Hildegarde were married, and lived in peace\nall the rest of their lives.\n\n\n\n\nGOLDILOCKS.\n\n\n    \"A king lived long ago,\n    In the morning of the world,\"\n\nwho had two children, Despard and Goldilocks. They were twin brother\nand sister, but no more alike than a queen-lily and a nightshade, a\nraven and a dove.\n\nGoldilocks was a bright young damsel, with hair like fine threads of\ngold, and a face so radiant that people questioned if the blood in her\nveins might not be liquid sunshine. Her eyes were as soft as violets;\nand her laugh was like the music of a spring robin.\n\nDespard, on the other hand, was as melancholy as an owl. His raven\nhair cast gloomy shadows, and his mournful eyes pierced you with a\nsudden sorrow. He was too low-spirited to chase butterflies, weave\ndaisy-chains, and dance with Goldilocks among the flowers. He liked\nbetter to play at a mimic funeral, and deck himself as chief mourner,\nin a friar's robe with sable plumes. He could never understand why\nlaughing Goldilocks should object to making believe die, and be buried\nin the large jewel-coffer, which stood for a tomb.\n\nHe always said that, if he lived to be a man, he should grow all the\nmore wretched, and creep over the earth like a great black cloud. When\nDespard spoke so hopelessly, Goldilocks paused in her song or her\nplay, and stealthily brushed a rare tear from her eye. She was afraid\nher brother's words might prove true.\n\nThese children lived in what is called the Golden Age, when the\nrivers flowed with milk and wine, and yellow honey dripped from\noak-trees. Their childhood would probably have lasted forever; but the\nSilver Age came on, and every thing was changed. Then, it was\nsometimes too warm, and sometimes too cold. People began to live in\ncaves, and weave houses of twigs. The king, their father, died, and\nwent, so it was said, to the \"Isles of the Blessed.\"\n\nThe children were shipwrecked upon a foreign shore, all because of a\nsudden swell of the ocean. Here they were desolate and homesick. The\nstrange people among whom they had fallen did not know they were the\nchildren of a king. No one was left to care for them but their old\nnurse, named Sibyl.\n\nThis aged woman was growing lame, and her hair was gray; yet she loved\nthe twins, and would spin all the day long, to buy black bread for\nthem, and now and then a little choice fruit.\n\n\"Alas,\" she sighed, \"alas, for the Golden Age, when the forests had\nnever been robbed, when oxen were not called to draw the plough, and\nthe beautiful earth laughed, and tossed up fruit and flowers without\nwaiting to be asked!\"\n\nThe frocks that Sibyl made for Goldilocks were coarse; but on fair\nspring days she took from the chest a delicate, rosy robe, embroidered\nwith gold, and smiled to see how it adorned the child.\n\nBut as for Despard, she had no hope that he would ever look well in\nany thing. She would part Goldilocks' wonderful hair, and say,--\n\n\"Old Sibyl knows who is her love; she knows who would be glad to give\nher pomegranates and grapes, when she is too old to spin, and too weak\nto sit up.\"\n\nLittle Goldilocks would laughingly reply,--\n\n\"And I know, too: when I am a woman I shall weave a net of my hair,\nand fish up all the gold that has sunk to the beds of the rivers. Then\nI know who will have a set of hard gold teeth, and a silver\nrocking-chair.\"\n\n\"Thou art lovely enough to be a goddess, little Goldilocks. And what\nwilt thou do with the rest of the gold?\"\n\n\"Oh, Despard shall have all he can carry; for Despard is good, let\npeople say what they may. And I will have a crown made for him, with\ndiamonds set in it as plenty as plums in a pudding.\"\n\n\"Listen, my children,\" said the old Sibyl, sadly: \"there will be no\none to give me grapes and pomegranates when I am faint and weak. I can\nread by the stars that you are soon to go on a pilgrimage, and leave\nyour old nurse behind. You may well weep, my good little boy: there is\nto be no rest for your feet till you have travelled over the whole\nworld, from north to south.\"\n\nDespard groaned aloud; but Goldilocks clapped her hands and laughed.\n\"Oh, let us start to-night,\" she cried.\n\n\"When the sun-god has made twelve journeys in his winged boat,\" sighed\nSibyl, \"and when the young moon has arisen out of the ocean, then you\nmay go.\"\n\nAnd, at the appointed time, the faithful nurse, with many tears,\nprepared her foster-children for their long journey. She took from a\nworm-eaten coffer some family heirlooms, which had been lying since\nthe days of the Golden Age, enveloped in rose-leaves and gold paper.\n\nShe placed in the hand of Despard a dagger with a jewelled hilt, a\nquiver of poisoned arrows, and a glittering sword, with a blade\nsharper than a serpent's tooth.\n\nBut to Goldilocks she gave a flask of smooth, fragrant oil, a vase of\ncrystal-bright water, and a fan made of the feathers of the beautiful\nbird of Paradise.\n\nKissing the little pilgrims, she said,--\n\n\"These gifts have been saved for you these many years: use them as an\ninward voice shall whisper you: I give you my blessing. The gods\nattend you! Farewell.\"\n\nThe children at first walked on sorrowfully; but soon the gay spirits\nof Goldilocks rebounded, and she waltzed hither and thither, like a\nmorsel of thistle-down.\n\n\"See, brother,\" said she, \"we almost fly! What a glorious thing it is\nto go on a pilgrimage! I am glad the beautiful Silver Age has come,\nand Jupiter has given us leave to take a peep at the world!\"\n\n\"All very well for you to say,\" moaned Despard; \"you flit about as if\nyou had wings on your feet; while, as for me, it is true I move with\nequal speed, but so painfully that I wonder my footprints are not\nstained with blood.\"\n\nSoon the children observed, not far off, a party of youths rowing on\nthe bosom of a lake. They sat in a rocking, unsteady little bark, but\nwere in gay spirits, blowing bubbles, watching idle clouds, and\nthrowing up empty shouts to be caught up and echoed by the hills.\n\n\"I wish we had not seen these happy people,\" sighed Despard; \"for, if\nyou can believe me, sister, I really feel as if I must pelt them with\nmy arrows.\"\n\nSo saying, little Despard began to fire his poisonous darts at random.\n\n\"Why, brother,\" cried Goldilocks, in alarm, \"are you possessed by the\nfuries? Take care how you aim, or you will surely do mischief.\"\n\nEven as she spoke, several of the gay youths dropped to the bottom of\nthe boat, apparently wounded. Their companions pushed for the shore;\nand Goldilocks almost flew, to pour into the red wounds her brother\nhad made the smooth healing oil from her flask.\n\n\"Poor dears,\" said she, pitying their pain, \"I have done my best; and,\nsee! these ugly gashes are almost healed. I cannot promise you,\nthough, that they will not leave scars.\"\n\nThe youths thanked the sweet girl, and assured her it was almost a\npleasure to be wounded, if one might be nursed by such gentle hands as\nhers. But as for Despard, it was hardly strange that they should look\nupon the poor boy as a wicked little highwayman; or, at best, a saucy,\ncareless fellow.\n\nSome of the older youths, however, patted him on the shoulder, and\nsaid, \"For your sweet sister's sake we can even endure your pranks.\"\n\n\"Do not despise me,\" said the boy, sadly; \"for as I am moved, so must\nI do. Not for the whole world would I fire a poisonous arrow, if the\nmighty Jove did not compel me.\"\n\nAs they walked on, Despard, against his will, flung into the air a\nquantity of winged torments, which he found stowed away in his wallet,\nsuch as gnats, wasps, and flies.\n\n\"There, now,\" said sweet Goldilocks, ready to weep, \"why could you not\nlook before you, and see those pretty children playing yonder in that\nfragrant meadow?\"\n\n\"I saw them,\" said Despard; \"but what good did that do?\"\n\n\"O brother, I wish the Golden Age would come again, and then you\nwould cease scattering mischief and trouble.\"\n\nThe little ones, suddenly stopped in their play by the army of\ninsects, ran hither and thither over the meadow, screaming with pain.\nBut Goldilocks appeared in the midst of them, with her shining hair,\nviolet eyes, and laugh like the music of a spring robin.\n\n\"Come to me,\" said she; \"let me kiss away the stings.\"\n\nIn a very short space the children were soothed, and had forgotten\ntheir trouble. Then they threw their little arms about Goldilocks'\nneck, and begged her to stay and play with them.\n\n\"Sweet children, it is my mission,--so the stars say,--to travel all\nover this world, from north to south. But, for all that, I will frolic\nwith you till the sun sets.\"\n\n\"Will the sad boy come too?\" asked the children.\n\nGoldilocks shook her bright curls. \"He is planting a garden,\" said\nshe; \"no need to ask him; he hears nothing while he is at play, and\nhis games are as solemn as midnight.\"\n\nThe children made believe that the beautiful Goldilocks, in her\nrose-colored dress, with her beaming hair and flying feet, was a great\nbutterfly, which they were trying to catch. Now here, now there, the\nglowing butterfly flitted from flower to flower, leading her followers\na merry chase. Every child thought to seize and hold her, for a kiss.\nShe laughed; and the breezes danced with her hair, like--\n\n    \"Zephyr with Aurora playing,\n    As he met her once a-Maying.\"\n\nBut before any one had kissed or even touched her, she had\ndisappeared, leaving the children gazing into the air, and seeking\ntheir late companion with tearful eyes.\n\nGoldilocks had only gone back to Despard, who was still planting\nflower-seeds.\n\n\"What a miserable game,\" said Goldilocks; \"it is worse than playing\nfuneral! Who thought you could make flowers grow? Our old nurse said\nit was only Demeter, the goddess, who could do that. Here, now, you\nhave called up a bristling crop of thistles and brambles? On my word,\nDespard, it is a pity!\"\n\n\"Well, well, Goldilocks, see what you can make of them. I am doomed to\nwork, though I don't wish it; and my work is always disagreeable,\nthough I can't tell why!\"\n\nGoldilocks knelt, and blew on the prickly plants with her sweet\nbreath. By the nodding of the next breeze, they were changed to roses,\nviolets, and hare-bells.\n\n\"It is pleasant to see any thing smile, even a flower,\" said\nGoldilocks, laughing as she spoke.\n\n\"I think,\" replied Despard, \"that this is a strange pilgrimage. I\nbelieve our very thoughts are alive. I wish I could stop thinking.\"\n\nBy and by they came to a rude house,--as fine a one, though, as people\nin the Silver Age had yet learned how to build. Despard paused, and\nknocked gently. \"Why linger here?\" whispered his sister.\n\n\"I know not,\" sighed the boy, \"but so must I do.\"\n\n\"How now, little ones? you startled me so!\" cried a woman, opening the\ndoor by the width of a crack.\n\n\"Let us come in,\" said Despard, sorrowfully; \"we are two little\nwanderers; and our hairs are wet with night-dews.\"\n\n\"Come in, then, little ones, and welcome; but never, at any one's\ndoor, knock so loud again,\" added the woman, pressing her hand against\nher heart.\n\n\"I only tapped with the ends of my fingers,\" said the boy.\n\n\"Ah,\" said the woman, \"it was louder to me than thunder.\" Then, after\nshe had set before them a supper of bread and milk, she rocked her\nbaby, and sang to it a sweet cradle-song about mother Juno and high\nOlympus.\n\nThe children lay down on beds of rushes; and Goldilocks, soothed by\nthe lullaby, fell asleep; but soon awoke, and saw her brother leaning,\non tiptoe, over the osier basket. The baby's face looked, in the\nmoonlight, white and pinched; and its sick hands were pressed together\nlike two withered rose-leaves.\n\n\"Let me kiss him,\" whispered Goldilocks smiling. But bitter tears\nrolled down Despard's cheeks. Drawing his little sword from its\nsheath, he pricked the baby's heart till one red drop, the life-drop,\nstained the steel. The sick baby ceased to breathe.\n\n\"O Despard, what have you done?\" cried Goldilocks, seizing his arm.\n\n\"I know not,\" said the boy; \"but as my heart moves me, so must I do.\"\n\nHearing voices, the mother awoke, and, as her habit was, turned at\nonce to the cradle. The baby lay there beautiful and still; the\npinched look gone, and its furrowed brow smoothed into a baby's smile.\nThe mother wept bitterly.\n\n\"Ah, little stranger,\" said she, turning to Despard, \"I knew you when\nI let you in. Why did I open the door for you?\"\n\n\"Poor mother,\" said the boy sorrowfully, \"if you had not opened the\ndoor, I must have come in by the window.\"\n\nBut Goldilocks threw her soft arms about the woman's neck, and\ncomforted her till it was morning, and the \"gilded car of day\" had\nrisen from the ocean. The tears on her cheeks she dried with her fan,\nmade of magical feathers.\n\nWhen the children set out again on their journey, the woman gave\nGoldilocks a loving kiss, and then embraced Despard, saying,--\n\n\"For the sake of your sweet sister, I love even you.\"\n\n\"Poor little brother,\" said Goldilocks when they had gone farther on\ntheir journey, \"you are as good as I; but how is it? you make people\nweep, while I must go with you to dry the tears you call forth.\"\n\n\"I am a black cloud,\" groaned Despard, \"you a sunbeam.\"\n\n\"But I like to have a cloud to shine on,\" said loving little\nGoldilocks.\n\nFootsore and weary, the little pilgrims travelled on; and, when they\nhad gone from north to south, and back again, the Sibyl met them with\ntender kisses; and, when they were refreshed, bade them go forth\nagain.\n\n\"For,\" said she, \"this world is always new, my dears. The people who\nare born to-day were not here yesterday; and every mortal must see the\nfaces of my foster-children.\"\n\nIt was now the Brazen Age, and Despard and Goldilocks had grown to be\na youth and maiden; but still they travelled on. The Iron Age came;\nand Despard's raven hair was frosted; but Goldilocks' curls never\nfaded. Let her live as long as live she may, she can never grow old.\n\nTheir pilgrimage is not over yet; nor will it be while the earth\nrevolves about the sun. The brother and sister come to every house;\nthey knock at every door.\n\nTo all the children who open their eyes upon the light, come Despard\nand Goldilocks, the bitter and the sweet of life, the twin angels of\nHappiness and Sorrow.\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note\n\nArchaic and variable spelling is preserved as printed. Punctuation\nerrors have been repaired. Hyphenation has been made consistent.\nTypographic errors (omitted letters) have been repaired.\n\nOn page 61, seen has been amended to then--\"One sees, now and then,\nstupid human beings, ...\"\n\nOn page 158, a reference to Hilda has been amended to Zora--\"He\ndescribed Zora's visit to the cruel goblin.\"","title":"Fairy Book","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":22934}