PART TWO

FAIRY STORIES

_Fairy Godmothers and Wonderful Gifts_

_Rap! Rap! Rap! “Who’s tirling at the pin?” “I’m your Fairy Godmother. Will you let me in?”_

_“Pointed red cap, Long peakèd chin, Twinkling black eyes, Why should I let you in?”_

_Rap! Rap! Rap!-- “Open wide your door, I’m your Fairy Godmother, With gifts threescore!”_

CINDERELLA

OR

THE LITTLE GLASS SLIPPER

Once upon a time there was a gentleman who married for his second wife a woman who was the haughtiest and proudest ever seen. She had two daughters who resembled her in temper. The husband, however, had a young daughter by his first wife, who was of a sweetness and goodness without limit. She was like her own mother, who had been the most sweet-tempered woman in the world.

The wedding was no sooner over than the stepmother began to show her bad disposition. She could not endure the young girl, whose sweetness made her own daughters seem more detestable. She forced her to do the hardest work in the house. It was she who washed the dishes and put them in their places. It was she who polished the bedroom floors for her stepmother and two sisters. She slept under the eaves in a garret, on a wretched mattress; while her sisters lay in elegant rooms where the beds were soft and white, and the walls were lined with long mirrors in which the sisters could see themselves from head to foot.

The poor girl suffered all this with patience. And she did not dare complain to her father, for he would have scolded her, as he was completely governed by his wife.

Each day, after the girl had finished her work, she sat down in the chimney-corner among the cinders--so they called her Cinderella. Nevertheless, Cinderella, in spite of her shabby clothes, was more polite and a hundred times more beautiful than her sisters, although they were magnificently dressed.

It happened one day that the King’s son gave a ball, and that he invited everybody of rank. The ugly sisters were also invited, because they always made a grand figure at all Court festivities. They were very glad at the thought of attending the royal ball, and busied themselves in choosing the robes and head-dresses which should be most becoming. But, alas! it was more trouble and work for Cinderella, for it was she who did her sisters’ ironing, and fluted their ruffles. Night and morning, they talked only of their clothes.

“I,” said the eldest, “shall wear my red velvet robe with rich lace trimming.”

“I,” said the younger, “shall have only my plain skirt, but to make up for its plainness, I shall put on my cloak flowered with gold, and my tiara of diamonds.”

They called in Cinderella to ask her advice, for she had excellent taste. Cinderella gave them the best counsel in the world, and even offered to do their hair, for which they were very glad. And while she was arranging their locks in two rows of puffs, they asked:--

“Cinderella, would you not be delighted to go to the ball?”

“Alas, you are mocking me!” replied she. “It would be no place for me!”

“You are right,” answered the sisters, laughing scornfully. “Everybody would laugh well to see such a scrub-girl as you at the ball!”

Any one but Cinderella would have done their hair crooked out of rage, but she was so sweet that she did her very best. They went two days without eating, so excited were they with joy. They broke a dozen lacings trying to make their waists smaller, and they spent all their time before the mirrors.

At last the happy day arrived, and as they departed for the ball, Cinderella followed them with her eyes as long as she could. Then she burst into tears.

Her Godmother, who saw her in tears, asked what was the matter.

“I wish--I wish--” and Cinderella sobbed so that she could not finish.

Her Godmother, who was a Fairy, said: “You wish to go to the ball, don’t you?”

“Alas! Yes!” sighed Cinderella.

“Then be a good girl,” said her Godmother, “and you shall go. Now, run into the garden and bring me a pumpkin.”

Cinderella went, and picked the biggest she could find; and as she carried it to her Godmother, she wondered how that pumpkin could help her go to the ball.

Her Godmother scooped out all the inside, leaving only the rind which she struck with her wand. Instantly it became a golden coach. Then she went to look at the mousetrap in which she found six mice. She bade Cinderella open the trap, and, as each mouse sprang out, she touched it with her wand. And instantly it was changed into a handsome horse.

As the Godmother was wondering out of what to make a coachman, Cinderella said: “I will go and see if there is a rat in the trap--then we can make a coachman.”

“That is a good thought,” said her Godmother, “go and see.”

Cinderella brought the trap in which were three large rats. Her Godmother chose one of the three because of his long whiskers; and when she touched him, he was instantly changed into a big coachman who had the handsomest moustaches ever seen.

Then she said to Cinderella: “Go into the garden. You will find there six lizards behind the watering-pot. Bring them to me.”

Cinderella had no sooner brought them than they were changed into six footmen in gold-laced coats, who sprang up behind the coach with the air of never having done anything else in their lives.

Then the Fairy said to Cinderella: “Here is a fine coach in which to go to the ball! Are you not glad?”

“Yes,” replied she, “but must I go in these ugly clothes?”

Her Godmother, in answer, touched her with her wand, and instantly her old clothes were changed into robes of gold and silver embroidered with gems. Then her Godmother presented her with a pair of glass slippers, the prettiest in the world.

Now that Cinderella was all dressed, she got into the coach; but her Godmother told her above all things not to remain a minute later than midnight. For if she remained a single minute longer, her coach would become a pumpkin; her horses, mice; her coachman, a rat; and her footmen, lizards; while all her fine clothes would change to rags.

Cinderella promised her Godmother that she would not fail to return before midnight.

She departed for the ball, so joyful that she did not know herself. The King’s son, who was informed by his servants of the arrival of a beautiful Princess whom nobody knew, ran to receive her. He assisted her to descend from the coach, and led her into the hall where the guests were assembled.

There was a great silence. People stopped dancing, and the violins ceased playing, while all crowded around to see the beauty of the unknown one. Then a confused murmur arose. “Oh, how beautiful she is!” The King even, old as he was, could not take his eyes off her, and he whispered to the Queen that it was long since he had seen such a handsome and amiable person.

All the ladies were anxious to examine her head-dress and robes, and they decided to have some made like them the very next morning, provided, of course, that they could procure beautiful enough materials and needlewomen sufficiently skilful.

The King’s son led Cinderella to the place of honour, and asked her to dance with him. She danced with such grace that she was more admired than ever. A superb banquet was served, but the young Prince did not taste it, so much was he occupied in gazing at her. She seated herself by her sisters, and showed them a thousand attentions. She offered them a share of the oranges and lemons that the Prince had given her, which greatly surprised them, for they did not know her.

While they were chatting, Cinderella heard the clock strike a quarter before twelve. She immediately bowed to the company, and hastened away as fast as she could.

When she arrived at home, she found her Fairy Godmother, and having thanked her, told her how she longed to go again the next night, for the Prince had invited her. And while she was relating all the things that had happened at the ball, she heard the two sisters rap at the door.

Cinderella opened it. “How late you are,” she said.

“If you had been at the ball,” replied one of the sisters, “you would not think it late! There came the most beautiful Princess you have ever dreamed of. She was devoted to us, and gave us oranges and lemons.”

Cinderella could scarcely contain herself for joy. She asked the name of the Princess.

“We do not know,” they said. “Even the King’s son is curious to learn who she is.”

Cinderella smiled and said to the elder sister: “Was she so beautiful then! How happy you are!”

The next night the sisters went to the ball. Cinderella went, too, even more magnificently attired than the first time. The King’s son was constantly by her side, and never ceased whispering sweet things. Cinderella was not at all weary, and she forgot what her Godmother had told her; so that when she heard the first stroke of midnight, she could not believe that it was more than eleven o’clock.

She sprang up, and fled as swiftly as a deer. The Prince followed her, but could not catch her. She lost one of her glass slippers, which he tenderly picked up.

Cinderella reached home breathless, without coach or footmen, and clad in rags. Nothing remained of all her splendour but one little glass slipper, for she had dropped the other.

The Prince’s attendants asked the palace guards if they had seen a Princess pass by. They said that they had seen no one except a poorly dressed girl, who looked more like a peasant than a Princess.

When her sisters returned, Cinderella asked if they had had a good time again, and if the lovely Princess had been present. They said yes, but that she had fled as soon as twelve o’clock had sounded, and that she had dropped one of her little glass slippers--it was the prettiest thing!--and that the Prince had picked it up. And that he had done nothing but look at it for the rest of the night! Assuredly he must be very much in love with the Princess to whom it belonged!

And they were right. A few days after this the King’s son sent a herald who announced, by sound of a trumpet, that the Prince would marry any lady whom the glass slipper fitted.

Then commenced a great trying-on by Princesses and Duchesses and all the ladies of the Court--but it was of no use. At last they brought the glass slipper to the two sisters, who did their best to get their feet into it, but they could not do so.

Cinderella, who was looking on and recognized her slipper, said smilingly: “Let me see if it will fit me.”

Her sisters began to laugh scornfully and to ridicule her; but the attendant who held the slipper, looking attentively at Cinderella, saw that she was very beautiful, and said that she had a right to do so, for he had been ordered to try the slipper on every girl in the Kingdom.

He made Cinderella seat herself, and, placing the slipper on her little foot, saw that it went on easily and fitted her like wax. The amazement of the sisters was great, but was greater still when Cinderella drew the other slipper from her pocket and put it on her other foot.

Immediately the Fairy Godmother arrived, and, having touched Cinderella’s clothes with her wand, changed them into garments more magnificent than those she had worn before.

Then the two sisters recognized her for the beautiful Princess whom they had seen at the ball. They threw themselves at her feet, and begged forgiveness for the cruel treatment she had suffered. Cinderella raised and embraced them, and assured them that she pardoned them with all her heart, and that she now entreated them to love her dearly.

She was then conducted to the palace of the Prince, adorned as she was in all her magnificence. The Prince found her more beautiful than ever, and a few days after he married her with great pomp.

Cinderella, who was as good as she was beautiful, lodged her sisters in the palace, and married them on the same day to two great lords of the Court.

_Charles Perrault_

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY IN THE WOOD

Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen who were most miserable because they had no children; but when a lovely baby girl was born to them, they were two of the happiest people in the world. And in order to make all things as propitious as possible for the little Princess, they invited seven Fairies who lived in the Kingdom, to be her Godmothers.

When the christening ceremony was over, there was a magnificent banquet given for the Fairies. Before each of them was laid a plate of massive gold, and a case--also of massive gold--containing a spoon, a fork, and a knife, all of the same precious metal, and richly studded with diamonds and rubies.

But just as everybody was seated at the table, who should enter but an old Fairy, who had not been invited because for more than fifty years she had been shut up in a tower, and was supposed to be either dead or enchanted.

The King immediately commanded that a chair should be placed for her at the table, but he could not offer her a golden plate and case, for only seven had been made for the seven Fairies. The unreasonable old creature considered herself insulted, and began to mutter frightful threats between her teeth. The youngest of the Fairies, hearing this, concealed herself behind the tapestry, in order to be the last to speak, and so perhaps prevent any harm being done to the little Princess.

Meanwhile the Godmothers began to bestow their gifts.

One said: “My Godchild shall be the most beautiful girl in the whole world.” The second added: “And she shall have the disposition of an angel.” The third said: “I give her the gift of perfect grace and graciousness.” The fourth added: “And she shall dance like a sylph.” The fifth said: “She shall sing like a nightingale.” The sixth added: “She shall excel in playing on every sort of musical instrument.”

Then came the turn of the old Fairy, who screamed like a cockatoo, while her head shook more from rage than from age: “The Princess shall pierce her hand with a spindle, and shall die!”

These dreadful words made the whole company--every one--shudder; and there was no one there who was not drowned in tears. At that moment the youngest Fairy appeared from behind the tapestry, and said sweetly:--

“Do not weep, Your Majesties, your daughter will not die. It is true that I have not power enough to entirely undo the evil that my elder sister has done. The Princess will hurt her hand with a spindle, but, instead of dying, she will fall asleep for a hundred years, and then a royal Prince will come and waken her.”

The King, hoping to prevent this calamity, forbade any person in the Kingdom either to spin or even to keep a spindle in the house. Any one who disobeyed was to be punished with death.

Sixteen years after this, the King and Queen went with their Court to a castle in the country, when it happened that the young Princess, wandering curiously from room to room, mounted to the top of a tower. There she found an old woman sitting alone before her wheel. This old woman had never heard that the King had forbidden any one to spin.

“What are you doing, my good mother?” asked the Princess.

“I am spinning, my beautiful child,” answered the old woman.

“Oh, how pretty it is!” exclaimed the Princess. “How do you do it? Give that to me, so I may see if I can do as well!”

And as she spoke, she took the spindle so eagerly and so quickly, that it pierced her hand, and she sank fainting to the floor. The poor old woman, in the greatest distress, cried for help. People came hurrying from all sides. They dashed water on the Princess. They unlaced her robes. They bathed her temples with perfumes. But she did not move. Then the King, who, hearing the commotion, was come into the tower-room, remembered the malediction of the old Fairy. He perceived that the misfortune was a thing that had to come about, since the Fairies had foretold it.

He caused the Princess to be carried to the most splendid apartment in the castle, and to be laid on a couch of down and on pillows of down embroidered with gold and silver. Her eyes were closed, but her soft breathing showed that she was not dead. Then, too, her cheeks were flushed a delicate rose-colour, and her lips were like coral. She seemed a sleeping angel, she was so beautiful.

The kind Fairy, who had saved the Princess’s life, was in the Kingdom of Mataquin, twelve thousand miles away, but the King instantly sent word of the misfortune, by a little dwarf, who travelled in seven-league boots--which are boots that pass over seven leagues at each step--and she arrived directly at the castle, in a chariot of fire drawn by dragons.

She approved of all that the King had done. But being exceedingly wise, she knew that the poor Princess would be in a pitiable condition when at the end of a hundred years she awoke to find herself alone in that old castle. She knew of but one thing to do, and she did it. At a wave of her wand every one fell asleep--ladies of honour, waiting-maids, squires, pages, stewards, cooks, scullions, porters, footmen,--every breathing thing, even the horses in the stables with the grooms, the mastiffs in the courtyard, and little Pouffi, the Princess’s lap dog, who was nestling beside her on the couch--all slept. The spits full of partridges over the fire, and even the fire itself, waited silently to serve their mistress when she should wake and need them.

Only the King and Queen were left to kiss their darling child, and go away from the castle. The King forbade any one to approach the place, but this command was not necessary, for within a quarter of an hour there was grown up around the castle park, such a vast wood, whose trees, great and small, were so interlaced with briars and thorns, that neither man nor beast could pass through. It was plain that the Fairy had arranged matters after Fairy fashion, taking care that the young Princess should not be disturbed while she slept.

When the hundred years were gone, a King, not of the family of the Princess, reigned over the land. One day his son was hunting near the Fairy wood, and asked what were those turrets he saw rising above the trees. People told him everything that they had heard. One said that it was an enchanted castle. Another said that all the witches in the country held their revels there. The most common belief, however, seemed to be that it was the dwelling-place of an ogre, who carried off all the children he could catch, and devoured them at his leisure; for no one could follow him, as only he could pass through the wood.

While the Prince was lost in wonder at these tales, an old peasant approached him, and said: “Your Highness, more than fifty years ago I heard my father say that in yonder castle was the most beautiful Princess on earth, and that she would sleep a hundred years and then be wakened by the son of a King, and that she would marry him.”

That was enough to set the Prince on fire for the adventure. In fact, he felt in his heart that he was the chosen one. He did not delay for an instant. No sooner had he taken a step toward the wood than the trees great and small, and the thorns and briars, disentangled themselves and opened a path.

He walked toward the castle which stood at the end of a broad avenue. He saw, with surprise, that none of his attendants had been able to follow him, for the wood had closed again behind him; but all the same he went on boldly.

He entered a spacious outer court, where a person less brave than he would have been paralyzed by fear. A deathlike silence reigned, and many dead men lay stretched upon the ground. But the Prince saw, at a second glance, that the men had only the appearance of being dead, that, indeed, they were really men-at-arms, who had fallen asleep with their half-emptied wine-glasses beside them.

He ascended the stairway. He entered an antechamber, where the guard, ranged in line, with their muskets on their shoulders, were snoring contentedly. He crossed a presence-chamber where many lords and ladies were sleeping, some standing and some sitting.

Then he found himself in a magnificent apartment where on a couch, whose curtains were lifted, slept a young Princess as lovely as if she had strayed from Paradise!

The Prince knelt beside her, and pressed his lips on her white hand that lay on the coverlet. The spell was broken! The Princess opened her eyes, and, looking at the Prince as if he was no stranger, said:--

“Is it you, my Prince! I know you, for the Fairy has sent me such happy dreams in order that I might know the one who should free me from enchantment.”

Then they talked together. Each had so much to say. The Prince forgot the flight of time, and the Princess certainly did, it was so long since she had talked with any one.

Meanwhile the whole castle had awakened when the Princess did; and all the people had returned to their regular duties. They were naturally half-starved. Dinner was prepared.

Then the maid of honour, who was as hungry as the others, and who really had difficulty to keep her voice from being as sharp as her appetite, went to the Princess’s apartment, and said in a gentle tone: “Pardon, Your Highness, but dinner is served.”

The Princess was superbly dressed, and the Prince was careful not to say that her robe was like that of his great-grandmother. He did not find her any the less beautiful for all that. They dined in the Hall of Mirrors, and were served by the pages and ladies-in-waiting of the Princess. The violins and hautboys played delightfully considering that they had lain untouched for a hundred years. After dinner, the Prince and Princess were married in the chapel of the castle. And on the death of the Prince’s father, which occurred soon after the marriage, the Prince and Princess reigned happily over all that land.

_Charles Perrault_

PRINCE CHÉRI

Long ago there lived a monarch, who was such a very honest man that his subjects entitled him “the Good King.” One day when he was out hunting, a little white rabbit, which had been half killed by his hounds, leaped right into His Majesty’s arms. Said he, caressing it, “This poor creature has put itself under my protection, and I will allow no one to injure it.” So he carried it to his palace, had prepared for it a neat little rabbit-hutch, with abundance of the daintiest food, such as rabbits love, and there he left it.

The same night, when he was alone in his chamber, there appeared to him a beautiful lady. She was dressed neither in gold nor silver nor brocade; but her flowing robes were white as snow, and she wore a garland of white roses on her head. The Good King was greatly astonished at the sight, for his door was locked, and he wondered how so dazzling a lady could possibly enter; but she soon removed his doubts.

“I am the Fairy Candide,” said she, with a smiling and gracious air. “Passing through the wood, where you were hunting, I took a desire to know if you were as good as men say you are. I therefore changed myself into a white rabbit, and sought refuge in your arms. You saved me; and now I know that those who are merciful to dumb beasts will be ten times more so to human beings. You merit the name your subjects give you: you are the Good King. I thank you for your protection, and shall be always one of your best friends. You have but to say what you most desire, and I promise you your wish shall be granted.”

“Madam,” replied the King, “if you are a Fairy, you must know, without my telling you, the wish of my heart. I have one well-beloved son, Prince Chéri: whatever kindly feeling you have toward me, extend it to him.”

“Willingly,” said Candide. “I will make him the handsomest, richest, or most powerful Prince in the world. Choose whichever you desire for him.”

“None of the three,” returned the father. “I only wish him to be good--the best Prince in the world. Of what use would riches, power, or beauty be to him if he were a bad man?”

“You are right,” said the Fairy; “but I cannot make him good: he must do that himself. I can only change his external fortunes. For his personal character, the utmost I can promise is to give good counsel, reprove him for his faults, and even punish him, if he will not punish himself. You mortals can do the same with your children.”

“Ah, yes!” said the King, sighing.

Still, he felt that the kindness of a Fairy was something gained for his son, and died not long after, content and at peace.

Prince Chéri mourned deeply, for he dearly loved his father, and would have gladly given all his kingdoms and treasures to keep him in life a little longer.

Two days after the Good King was no more, Prince Chéri was sleeping in his chamber, when he saw the same dazzling vision of the Fairy Candide.

“I promised your father,” said she, “to be your best friend, and in pledge of this take what I now give you.” And she placed a small gold ring upon his finger. “Poor as it looks, it is more precious than diamonds; for whenever you do ill it will prick your finger. If after that warning you still continue in evil, you will lose my friendship, and I shall become your direst enemy.”

So saying she disappeared, leaving Chéri in such amazement that he would have believed it all a dream, save for the ring on his finger.

He was for a long time so good that the ring never pricked him at all; and this made him so cheerful and pleasant in his humour that everybody called him “Happy Prince Chéri.” But one unlucky day he was out hunting and found no sport, which vexed him so much that he showed his ill-temper by his looks and ways. He fancied his ring felt very tight and uncomfortable, but as it did not prick him, he took no heed of this; until, reëntering his palace, his little pet dog, Bibi, jumped up upon him, and was sharply told to get away. The creature, accustomed to nothing but caresses, tried to attract his attention by pulling at his garments, when Prince Chéri turned and gave it a severe kick. At this moment he felt in his finger a prick like a pin.

“What nonsense!” said he to himself. “The Fairy must be making game of me. Why, what great evil have I done? I, the master of a great empire, cannot I kick my own dog?”

A voice replied, or else Prince Chéri imagined it: “No, sire; the master of a great empire has a right to do good, but not evil. I--a Fairy--am as much above you as you are above your dog. I might punish you, kill you, if I chose; but I prefer leaving you to amend your ways. You have been guilty of three faults to-day--bad temper, passion, cruelty. Do better to-morrow.”

The Prince promised, and kept his word awhile; but he had been brought up by a foolish nurse, who indulged him in every way, and was always telling him that he would be a King one day, when he might do as he liked in all things. He found out now that even a King cannot always do that; it vexed him, and made him angry. His ring began to prick him so often that his little finger was continually bleeding. He disliked this, as was natural, and soon began to consider whether it would not be easier to throw the ring away altogether than to be constantly annoyed by it. It was such a queer thing for a King to have always a spot of blood on his finger!

At last, unable to put up with it any more, he took his ring off, and hid it where he would never see it; and believed himself the happiest of men, for he could now do exactly what he liked. He did it, and became every day more and more miserable.

One day he saw a young girl, so beautiful that, being always accustomed to have his own way, he immediately determined to marry her. He never doubted that she would be only too glad to be made a Queen, for she was very poor. But Zelia--that was her name--answered, to his great astonishment, that she would rather not marry him.

“Do I displease you?” asked the Prince, into whose mind it had never entered that he could displease anybody.

“Not at all, my Prince,” said the honest peasant-maiden. “You are very handsome, very charming; but you are not like your father the Good King. I will not be your Queen, for you would make me miserable.”

At these words the Prince’s love seemed all to turn to hatred. He gave orders to his guards to convey Zelia to a prison near the palace, and then took counsel with his foster-brother, the one of all his ill companions who most incited him to do wrong.

“Sir,” said this man, “if I were in Your Majesty’s place, I would never vex myself about a poor silly girl. Feed her on bread and water till she comes to her senses; and if she still refuses you, let her die in torment, as a warning to your other subjects should they venture to dispute your will. You will be disgraced should you suffer yourself to be conquered by a simple girl.”

“But,” said Prince Chéri, “shall I not be disgraced if I harm a creature so perfectly innocent?”

“No one is innocent who disputes Your Majesty’s authority,” said the courtier, bowing; “and it is better to commit an injustice than allow it to be supposed you can ever be contradicted with impunity.”

This touched Chéri on his weak point--his good impulses faded. He resolved once more to ask Zelia if she would marry him, and, if she again refused, to sell her as a slave. Arrived at the cell in which she was confined, what was his astonishment to find her gone! He knew not whom to accuse, for he had kept the key in his pocket the whole time. At last, the foster-brother suggested that the escape of Zelia might have been contrived by an old man, Suliman by name, the Prince’s former tutor, who was the only one who now ventured to blame him for anything that he did. Chéri sent immediately, and ordered his old friend to be brought to him, loaded heavily with irons.

Then, full of fury, he went and shut himself up in his own chamber, where he went raging to and fro, till startled by a noise like a clap of thunder. The Fairy Candide stood before him.

“Prince,” said she, in a severe voice, “I promised your father to give you good counsels, and to punish you if you refused to follow them. My counsels were forgotten, my punishments despised. Under the figure of a man, you have been no better than the beasts you chase: like a lion in fury, a wolf in gluttony, a serpent in revenge, and a bull in brutality. Take, therefore, in your new form the likeness of all these animals.”

Scarcely had Prince Chéri heard these words, than to his horror he found himself transformed into what the Fairy had named. He was a creature with the head of a lion, the horns of a bull, the feet of a wolf, and the tail of a serpent. At the same time he felt himself transported to a distant forest, where, standing on the bank of a stream, he saw reflected in the water his own frightful shape, and heard a voice saying:--

“Look at thyself, and know thy soul has become a thousand times uglier even than thy body.”

Chéri recognized the voice of Candide, and in his rage would have sprung upon her and devoured her; but he saw nothing, and the same voice said behind him:--

“Cease thy feeble fury, and learn to conquer thy pride by being in submission to thine own subjects.”

Hearing no more, he soon quitted the stream, hoping at least to get rid of the sight of himself; but he had scarcely gone twenty paces when he tumbled into a pitfall that was laid to catch bears. The bear-hunters, descending from some trees hard by, caught him, chained him, and only too delighted to get hold of such a curious-looking animal, led him along with them to the capital of his own Kingdom.

There great rejoicings were taking place, and the bear-hunters, asking what it was all about, were told that it was because Prince Chéri, the torment of his subjects, had been struck dead by a thunderbolt--just punishment of all his crimes. Four courtiers, his wicked companions, had wished to divide his throne among them; but the people had risen up against them, and offered the crown to Suliman, the old tutor whom Chéri had ordered to be arrested.

All this the poor monster heard. He even saw Suliman sitting upon his own throne, and trying to calm the populace by representing to them that it was not certain Prince Chéri was dead; that he might return one day to reassume with honour the crown which Suliman only consented to wear as a sort of viceroy.

“I know his heart,” said the honest and faithful old man; “it is tainted, but not corrupt. If alive, he may reform yet, and be all his father over again to you, his people, whom he has caused to suffer so much.”

These words touched the poor beast so deeply that he ceased to beat himself against the iron bars of the cage in which the hunters carried him about, became gentle as a lamb, and suffered himself to be taken quietly to a menagerie, where were kept all sorts of strange and ferocious animals--a place which he had himself often visited as a boy, but never thought he should be shut up there himself.

However, he owned he had deserved it all, and began to make amends by showing himself very obedient to his keeper. This man was almost as great a brute as the animals he had charge of, and when he was in ill-humour he used to beat them without rhyme or reason. One day, while he was sleeping, a tiger broke loose and leaped upon him, eager to devour him. Chéri at first felt a thrill of pleasure at the thought of being revenged; then, seeing how helpless the man was, he wished himself free, that he might defend him. Immediately the doors of his cage opened.

The keeper, waking up, saw the strange beast leap out, and imagined, of course, that he was going to be slain at once. Instead, he saw the tiger lying dead, and the strange beast creeping up and laying itself at his feet to be caressed. But as he lifted up his hand to stroke it, a voice was heard saying, “Good actions never go unrewarded.” And, instead of the frightful monster, there crouched on the ground nothing but a pretty little dog.

Chéri, delighted to find himself thus transformed, caressed the keeper in every possible way, till at last the man took him up into his arms and carried him to the King, to whom he related this wonderful story from beginning to end. The Queen wished to have the charming little dog; and Chéri would have been exceedingly happy, could he have forgotten that he was originally a man and a King. He was lodged most elegantly, had the richest of collars to adorn his neck, and heard himself praised continually. But his beauty rather brought him into trouble, for the Queen, afraid lest he might grow too large for a pet, took advice of dog-doctors, who ordered that he should be fed entirely upon bread, and that very sparingly; so poor Chéri was sometimes nearly starved.

One day, when they gave him his crust for breakfast, a fancy seized him to go and eat it in the palace-garden; so he took the bread in his mouth, and trotted away toward a stream which he knew, and where he sometimes stopped to drink. But instead of the stream he saw a splendid palace, glittering with gold and precious stones. Entering the doors was a crowd of men and women, magnificently dressed; and within there was singing and dancing, and good cheer of all sorts. Yet, however grandly and gaily the people went in, Chéri noticed that those who came out were pale, thin, ragged, half-naked, covered with wounds and sores. Some of them dropped dead at once; others dragged themselves on a little way and then lay down, dying of hunger, and vainly begged a morsel of bread from others who were entering in--who never took the least notice of them.

Chéri perceived one woman, who was trying feebly to gather and eat some green herbs. “Poor thing!” said he to himself; “I know what it is to be hungry, and I want my breakfast badly enough; but still it will not kill me to wait till dinner-time, and my crust may save the life of this poor woman.”

So the little dog ran up to her, and dropped his bread at her feet; she picked it up, and ate it with avidity. Soon she looked quite recovered, and Chéri, delighted, was trotting back again to his kennel, when he heard loud cries, and saw a young girl dragged by four men to the door of the palace, which they were trying to compel her to enter. Oh, how he wished himself a monster again, as when he slew the tiger! For the young girl was no other than his beloved Zelia. Alas! what could a poor little dog do to defend her? But he ran forward and barked at the men and bit their heels, until at last they chased him away with heavy blows. And then he lay down outside the palace-door, determined to watch and see what had become of Zelia.

Conscience pricked him now. “What!” he thought, “I am furious against these wicked men, who are carrying her away; and did I not do the same myself? Did I not cast her into prison, and intend to sell her as a slave? Who knows how much more wickedness I might not have done to her and others, if Heaven’s justice had not stopped me in time?”

While he lay thinking and repenting, he heard a window open, and saw Zelia throw out of it a bit of dainty meat. Chéri, who felt hungry enough by this time, was just about to eat it, when the woman to whom he had given his crust snatched him up in her arms.

“Poor little beast!” cried she, patting him, “every bit of food in that palace is poisoned; you shall not touch a morsel.”

And at the same time the voice in the air repeated again, “Good actions never go unrewarded.” And Chéri found himself changed into a beautiful little white pigeon. He remembered with joy that white was the colour of the Fairy Candide, and began to hope that she was taking him into favour again.

So he stretched his wings, delighted that he might now have a chance of approaching his fair Zelia. He flew up to the palace windows, and, finding one of them open, entered and sought everywhere, but he could not find Zelia. Then, in despair, he flew out again, resolved to go over the world until he beheld her once more.

He took flight at once, and traversed many countries, swiftly as a bird can, but found no trace of his beloved. At length in a desert, sitting beside an old hermit in his cave and partaking with him of his frugal repast, Chéri saw a poor peasant girl and recognized Zelia. Transported with joy, he flew in, perched on her shoulder, and expressed his delight and affection by a thousand caresses.

She, charmed with the pretty little pigeon, caressed it in her turn, and promised it that, if it would stay with her, she would love it always.

“What have you done, Zelia?” said the hermit, smiling. And while he spoke the white pigeon vanished, and there stood Prince Chéri in his own natural form. “Your enchantment ended, Prince, when Zelia promised to love you. Indeed, she has loved you always, but your many faults constrained her to hide her love. These are now amended, and you may both live happy if you will, because your union is founded upon mutual esteem.”

Chéri and Zelia threw themselves at the feet of the hermit, whose form also began to change. His soiled garments became of dazzling whiteness, and his long beard and withered face grew into the flowing hair and lovely countenance of Fairy Candide.

“Rise up, my children,” said she; “I must now transport you to your palace, and restore to Prince Chéri his father’s crown, of which he is now worthy.”

She had scarcely ceased speaking when they found themselves in the chamber of Suliman, who, delighted to find again his beloved pupil and master, willingly resigned the throne, and became the most faithful of his subjects.

King Chéri and Queen Zelia reigned together for many years, and it is said that the former was so blameless and strict in all his duties that, though he constantly wore the ring which Candide had restored to him, it never once pricked his finger enough to make it bleed.

_Madame Le Prince de Beaumont_ (_After Miss Mulock_)

TOADS AND DIAMONDS

Once upon a time there was a widow who had two daughters. The elder was so exactly like her mother in disposition and in face that whoever saw one, saw the other. They were both so disagreeable and so proud that nobody could endure them.

The younger was the image of her dead father. She was sweet and kind-hearted, besides being very beautiful. While her mother loved the elder daughter to distraction, she hated the younger. The poor child had to eat in the kitchen, and work day and night. And twice every day she had to walk several miles to a distant fountain to fetch home a large pitcher of water.

One morning, while she was resting beside the fountain, a poor woman passing by, stopped and asked her for a drink.

“Yes, indeed!” said the obliging young girl. And immediately dipping her pitcher, she filled it where the water was coldest, and held it carefully up so that the woman might easily drink from it.

When the woman had finished drinking, she said: “You are so beautiful, so good, and so kind, that I must bestow a gift upon you. For every word that you speak, there shall fall from your lips either a flower or a jewel.”

Now the woman was not really a poor peasant, but a Fairy who had taken that form in order to find how kind-hearted the young girl was. She then vanished.

As soon as the daughter arrived at home, her mother scolded her for being absent so long.

“I beg your pardon, my mother, for being gone such a long time,” answered the girl. And as she spoke there fell from her lips three roses, three lilies, three pearls, and three large diamonds.

“What do I see!” exclaimed her mother in amazement. “Where did you get them, my child?” It was the first time in her life that she had ever called her “my child.” “I do believe those jewels came from your mouth!”

The poor girl told her in a few words what had happened, and while she was talking a shower of blossoms and gems fell to the ground.

“Truly!” exclaimed the mother; “I must send my darling there! Look!” called she to the elder daughter; “see what comes out of your sister’s mouth. Would you not be glad to have the same Fairy gifts? You have only to go and draw some water from the fountain, and when a poor woman asks for a drink to give it to her very politely.”

“It would certainly look fine for me to carry a great pitcher to the fountain!” answered the elder daughter angrily.

“I wish you to go there at once,” said her mother.

So the girl went, but grumbling. She took the prettiest silver pitcher that there was in the house; and she was no sooner arrived at the fountain than she saw, stepping out of the wood, a magnificent lady attired in rich robes. She approached the girl and asked her for a drink. It was the same Fairy who had appeared to her sister, but who had taken the form of a Princess in order to find how rude the girl would be.

“Oh, indeed!” answered the insolent girl; “do you think that I am come here on purpose to give you a drink? I suppose you think that I have brought a silver pitcher expressly to draw water for you! Draw the water yourself, my fine lady!”

“You are rude,” replied the Fairy without becoming in the least angry. “Since you are so utterly disobliging, I bestow on you a gift. It is this, for every word that you speak, there shall fall from your mouth either a viper or a toad.”

Then the Fairy vanished.

When her mother saw the girl returning, she cried out: “Well, my daughter!”

“Well, my mother!” snapped the hateful girl, and as she spoke there sprang from her mouth two snakes and one toad.

“What do I see!” shrieked her mother. “Your sister is the cause of this, and she shall pay for it!”

And she rushed to beat the poor child, who fled into the neighbouring wood. The son of the King was returning from the chase, and met her as she was running away. Seeing how beautiful she was, he asked her why she was there alone, and why she wept.

“Ah, sir,” she said, “it is because my mother has driven me from home.”

The King’s son, seeing five or six pearls and as many diamonds fall from her lips, begged her to explain how such a marvel could be. When she told him about the Fairy’s gift, he thought that such a wedding portion was more than he could expect with a Princess, so he led the girl to his palace, and married her.

As for the sister, she made herself so hated, and so many vipers and toads sprang from her mouth, that at last her mother drove her from home. And, after having been refused shelter by all the neighbours, she died in a dark corner of the wood.

_Charles Perrault_

BLANCHE AND ROSE

Once upon a time there was a poor widow, who had two charming daughters. She named the elder Blanche, and the younger Rose, because they had the most beautiful complexions in the world.

One day, while the mother sat spinning at the door of her cottage, she saw a poor, bent, old woman hobbling by on a crutch. She pitied her, and said:--

“You are very tired. Sit down a minute and rest.”

Then she called her daughters to fetch a chair. They both hastened, but Rose ran faster than her sister and brought it.

“Will you not have a drink?” asked the mother kindly.

“Indeed, I will,” replied the old woman. “And it seems to me that I could eat a morsel, too, if you will give me something to strengthen me.”

“I will gladly give you all that I have,” said the mother, “but as I am poor, it will not be much.”

Then she bade her daughters wait on the old woman, who had seated herself at the table. She told Blanche to go and pick some plums from the plum tree that Blanche herself had planted, and of which she was very proud. But instead of obeying her mother pleasantly, she went away grumbling, and thinking, “What a shame that I have taken such care of my tree just for this greedy old woman!” However, she did not dare refuse to fetch some plums, and she brought them with a very bad grace, and evidently much against her will.

“And you, Rose,” said the mother, “you have no fruit to give this good lady, for your grapes are not yet ripe!”

“That is true,” answered Rose, “but I hear my hen cackling. She has just laid an egg, and I will give that with all my heart!”

And without allowing the old woman time to speak, Rose ran out to seek the egg. But when she came back the old woman had disappeared, and in her place stood the most beautiful lady--a Fairy.

“Good woman,” said she to the mother, “I am about to reward your two daughters as they deserve. The elder shall become a great Queen, and the younger shall be a farmer’s wife.”

Then the lady waved a wand and in a twinkling the little cottage was changed into a pretty farmhouse surrounded by a flourishing farm.

“This is your wedding portion,” said she to Rose. “I know I am giving to each of you what you like best.”

So saying the Fairy disappeared, leaving the mother and daughters speechless with surprise and joy. They were delighted with the spotlessness of all the furniture. The chairs were of wood, but they were so well polished that they shone like mirrors. The beds were covered with linen as white as snow. In the stables there were twenty sheep, as many lambs, four oxen, four cows; and in the yard were chickens, ducks, and pigeons. There was also a pretty garden full of fruits and flowers.

Blanche saw without jealousy all that the Fairy had given her sister. She was taken up with the thought of the delightful times she should have when she became a Queen. Just then a party of royal hunters passed by. And while she stood in the door to look at them, she appeared so wonderfully beautiful in the eyes of the King that he determined to marry her.

After she became Queen, she said to Rose: “I do not wish you to be a farmer’s wife. Come with me, sister, and I will wed you to a great lord.”

“I am much obliged to you, my sister,” answered Rose, “but I am used to the country, and wish always to remain here.”

During the first months of her marriage Queen Blanche was so occupied with fine clothes, balls, and the theatre, that she thought of nothing else. But afterward she became accustomed to the gay doings of the Court, and nothing amused her. On the contrary, she had many troubles.

At first the courtiers paid her great deference, but she knew that when she was not present, they said to each other: “See how this little peasant puts on the airs of a fine lady! The King must have very low taste to choose such a wife!”

Talk like this came to the King, and he began to think that he had made a mistake in marrying Blanche, so he ceased to love her, and neglected her sadly. When the courtiers saw this, they no longer did her honour. She had not one true friend to whom she might confide her sorrows. She always had a doctor near her who examined her food and took away everything she liked. They put no salt in her soups. She was forbidden to walk when she wished to. In a word, she was interfered with from morning to night. The King took her children from her, and gave them in charge of governesses who brought them up badly. But the Queen dared not say a word.

Poor Blanche! She was dying of grief. She became so thin that everybody pitied her. She had not seen her sister for several years, because she thought that it would disgrace a Queen to visit a farmer’s wife. But now feeling herself so unhappy, she asked the King’s permission to pass a few days in the country. He gladly gave his consent, for he was delighted to be rid of her.

When she arrived in the evening at the home of Rose, a band of shepherds and shepherdesses were dancing gaily on the grass. “There was a time,” sighed Blanche, “when I amused myself like these simple people! Then there was no one to prevent it!”

While she was thinking thus, her sister ran to embrace her, looking so happy and plump that Blanche could not help weeping as she gazed at her.

Rose had married a young farmer, who loved her dearly; and together they managed the farm that was the Fairy’s marriage portion. Rose had not many servants, but those she had she treated so kindly that they were as devoted to her as if they were her children. Her neighbours, too, were so fond of her that they were always trying to show it. She had not much money, but she had no need of it, for her farm produced wheat, wine, and oil; her flocks furnished milk; and she made butter and cheese. She spun the wool of her sheep into clothing for her household, all of whom enjoyed the best of health. When the day’s work was done, the whole family amused themselves with games, music, and dancing.

“Alas!” cried Queen Blanche, “the Fairy made me but a sad gift when she gave me a crown! People do not find happiness in magnificent palaces, but in the simple joys and labour of the country!”

As she finished speaking, the Fairy herself appeared before her.

“I did not intend to reward you by making you a Queen,” she said, “but to punish you because you gave your plums with such bad grace. In order to be truly happy it is necessary to possess, like your sister, only those things that are simple and joyful, and not to wish for more.”

“Ah, madame!” cried Blanche, “you are sufficiently avenged! Pray put an end to my misery!”

“It is ended,” replied the Fairy. “Even now the King, who has ceased to love you, is sending his officers to forbid your returning to the palace.”

All happened as the Fairy had said. And Blanche passed the rest of her life with Rose. She was happy and contented, never even thinking of the royal Court, except when she thanked the Fairy for taking her from it, and bringing her back to the pretty farm and to her dear sister.

_Madame Le Prince de Beaumont_

THE ENCHANTED WATCH

There once lived a gay young girl named Fannie, who never knew what time it was. Did she care? That I cannot say. And it is impossible for me to tell you how often she kept her father waiting, and caused him to be late for his appointments. And such a kind father as he was to Fannie, for she was his only child and he loved her very much. Indeed, he loved her so much that he overlooked her faults when he should have reproved them. Whole half-hours she used to keep the carriage waiting in front of the door, while she prinked before her mirror. And because she was never prompt, every one called her “Miss Tardy.” Yet, after keeping people waiting, she would excuse herself in the sweetest manner possible, and blame herself for thoughtlessness.

One day her old Godmother wrote that she was coming the next morning to lunch with Fannie at noon. She was a Fairy so celebrated for her promptness that people called her “the Fairy Prompt,” of which name she was very proud. With her, _noon_ was not ten minutes after twelve, nor ten minutes before twelve, but it was _exactly twelve o’clock_.

So the next morning, at the first stroke of twelve, she set her foot on the bottom step of Fannie’s house, and, as the last stroke died away, she entered the dining-room. The table was beautifully laid, and all was ready, but Fannie was not there. Indeed, Miss Tardy had forgotten all about her Godmother, and was calling on a friend. She was trying on her friend’s beautiful new clothes and having such a fine time that the Godmother was utterly forgotten, as if she had never been in the world.

But at last hunger reminded Fannie of luncheon, and she hurried home. The servants informed her that her Godmother had arrived, but as Fannie’s shoes pinched her, she rushed to her room and put on a pretty little pair of slippers. Then, as her street clothes were not suitable for slippers, she changed her dress for a becoming house-gown. By this time it was two o’clock.

She found her Godmother asleep in a comfortable chair, such as is not made any more; and, I think, she was snoring a little. She awoke as Fannie opened the door hurriedly.

“My dear Godmother,” said she, “I am so sorry!--so ashamed!--I am indeed a thoughtless creature to keep you waiting this way!”

“That is all right,” said the Godmother, who was very kind and indulgent to Fannie. “I have slept a little, while waiting for you. That will do me no harm. What time is it?”

“Oh, please do not ask me!” begged Fannie, “you will make me die with shame!”

And like a playful child she ran and stood in front of the clock, but her Fairy Godmother, who had good eyes, saw that the hand had passed two o’clock.

The dinner, as you may well imagine, was overdone, but the Fairy, who really loved her goddaughter, took it all as good-naturedly as possible, and made many gay jokes as she tried to eat the burnt roasts and the scorched creams.

It was soon four o’clock, and Fannie’s father hurriedly entered the drawing-room, where she was chatting with her Godmother.

“Well, Fannie!” he cried. “Are you ready? Are you ready?” Then he started back when he saw his daughter, in her pretty pink and blue house-gown, stretched indolently on a sofa, her feet to the fire, while she daintily sipped her coffee.

“What!” exclaimed her father. “Have you forgotten that you were to be ready at four o’clock!”

“Do you not see my Godmother with me, Papa?” said Fannie reproachfully.

“Pardon me, madame,” said the father, turning to the Fairy and bowing, although his face was red with anger. “Excuse my rudeness, but my daughter will cause me to die with grief!”

“And what has the poor child done?” asked the Godmother.

“Judge for yourself,” said he. “Prince Pandolph has invited us to his villa. Fannie is to sing for his guests. They are all assembled and expecting her. The Prince has sent his carriage which is now waiting before the door.”

“But, Papa,” said Fannie, “cannot you go without me?”

“You know that cannot be, child,” said her father sadly. “It is you who are invited, and it is your fine voice that the Prince wishes for his musicale. He will now be offended for ever, since you cannot go in this dress.”

“Calm yourself, my good sir,” said the Godmother, seeing Fannie’s confusion. “It is because of me that this dear little one has forgotten you. It is for me to repair this evil.”

So saying she passed her hand over the unfortunate house-gown and it was instantly transformed into the most ravishing robe embroidered with gold and pearls. Fannie, who was naturally very pretty, shone like a star in this brilliant costume.

“Wait a minute,” said the Fairy to the impatient father, who was already leading his daughter away. “Let me finish my work.” And she put around the neck of her goddaughter a magnificent golden chain at the end of which hung an exquisite little watch the size of a locket, and all of chased gold studded with diamonds.

“Now, little one,” said she, kissing the forehead of the spoilt child, “here is something that will aid your naughty memory. With this you will never again forget an engagement. Be sure to come home by ten o’clock.”

“Oh, yes, indeed!” said Fannie, kissing her Godmother joyfully.

It is necessary to say here that it was the Fairy Prompt who invented watches in her youth. But hers were not like those sold nowadays in the shops. There was a magic virtue in each watch, for when the hour of an engagement arrived, it made so loud a ticking that the owner of it had no peace until he kept his engagement.

So it happened that while Fannie was listening to the praises of the Prince and his guests, who were saying that she had the most delightful voice in the world, she heard a gentle sound, but very distinct:--

“_Tic! Tic! Tic!_”

“It is ten o’clock!” exclaimed Fannie joyously to her father. “Oh! my dear, good, little watch, that my Godmother gave me, it has told me so! We must hurry home.”

Her father, who was very much pleased because she had charmed the Prince and his guests with her sweet voice, said as they drove away:--

“My dear child, to-morrow I am going to take you to the finest jeweller in town, and buy for you the bracelet of antique cameos that you have been begging me for. At what time do you wish to go? At ten o’clock?”

“Oh, no!” cried Fannie, her eyes sparkling with delight, “at nine o’clock, please! Ever since I saw the bracelet I have been dying to possess it!”

“Very good! At nine o’clock, then. And what shall we do with the rest of our morning?”

“At exactly ten I am to go to the dressmaker’s to order some new gowns,” said Fannie, “but may we not lunch together at eleven?”

“Just as you say, dear little nightingale,” answered her father affectionately. “And order all the gowns and furbelows you wish, for the plumage should match the warbling. And since it suits you, I will meet you promptly at eleven, for at twelve I have an important business engagement.”

“At eleven o’clock, then, dear Papa,” said Fannie, “but do not forget to return in time this evening to escort me to the Baron’s ball!”

“Don’t worry!” said her father, smiling, “for nothing in the world would I make a pearl of a daughter like you wait for an escort!”

The next morning Fannie rose early and dressed more rapidly than usual, and was ready waiting for her father at nine. They drove to the jeweller’s. How her eyes sparkled as her father clasped the cameo bracelet on her arm! But the jeweller, who hoped to sell Fannie a necklace as well, took from his showcase such beautiful collars of pearls, rubies, amethysts, and other gems and precious stones that she forgot how the time was flying.

“_Tic! Tic! Tic! Tic!_”

“Thank you, dear watch, for warning me!” said Fannie gaily, “but the dressmaker must wait!”

“_Tic! Tic! Tic! Tic! Tic!_”

“You insupportable thing!” cried she, and taking the watch from her neck she handed it to her father, saying: “I beg you, dear Papa, to put this in your pocket. It is very annoying!”

He took the watch, and seeing a friend on the street, went to the door to speak with him.

“_Toc! Toc! Toc! Toc!_”

The watch raised its voice so that Fannie should hear it. The people in the shop all asked where the noise came from. And her father, mortified, said good-bye to his friend, gave back the watch to Fannie, and hurried her into the carriage.

She was soon at the dressmaker’s, and her ill-humour passed as she ordered a dress of pink brocade trimmed with rich lace, and a robe of garnet velvet embroidered with gold threads, and a cloak of silver cloth trimmed with pearls. She was not yet through when she glanced at the clock, and saw that it was eleven.

“Oh!” thought she, “that horrid watch is going to disturb me again! But I’ll finish my ordering!”

“_Toc! Toc! Toc! Toc!_”

The dressmaker turned her head. “What’s that, Miss?” she exclaimed with fright.

“It is nothing, let us go on!” said Miss Tardy.

“_Toc! Toc! Toc! Toc!_” louder than before.

“It is thieves! It is thieves!” cried the dressmaker.

“It is nothing I tell you--unfold this gown.”

“_Toc!--Toc!--Toc!--Toc!_” louder and louder!

And the poor dressmaker, half dead with fright, was in such a state that she could show no more clothes. And Fannie put on her hat and coat, and hurried away to the restaurant where she found her father walking nervously up and down.

“Ah! how thoughtful of you, dear child, to be prompt!” he said, as he led her to a table. And the delicious food soon made her forget her annoyance.

When Fannie returned home she was so fatigued that she put on a charming wrapper, and lay down to rest. Then she remembered that she had an engagement to see a poor man at two o’clock, whose want she had promised to relieve. She took the fatal watch from her neck, and giving it to the maid, said:--

“Take this, and carry it to the cellar, so that I may be rid of it!”

Two o’clock struck, and the poor old man, who had had nothing to eat for three days, presented himself. The maid told him that Miss Fannie was sleeping and would not see him. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he bowed humbly and was turning away, when everybody in the house jumped to the ceiling.

“_Paf! Paf! Paf! Paf!_” It was like so many shots from a pistol.

The neighbours commenced screaming. The servants ran frantically to and fro.

Fannie sprang up from her couch.

“_Paf! Paf! Paf! Paf!_”

“It must be that wretched watch!” cried she.

“_Paf!--Paf!--Paf!--Paf!_”

“Yes! Yes! I am coming! I am coming!” And she hurried to the cellar and, picking up the watch, returned to her room in silence.

Then she called the poor old man, fed him, and comforted him, and sent him away with a full purse.

Evening arrived, and Fannie, all dressed for the Baron’s ball, shone more beautifully than ever in her magnificent gown. And just as her father was leading her to the carriage, a clumsy wagon drove up, and an old countrywoman descended from it, crying out that she must see her dear child--her Fannie--just once more before she died. It was Fannie’s old nurse who had come all the way from her village miles distant to hold her dear child in her arms. When she saw that Fannie was ready to go out, she screamed loudly and would have made herself ill, if Fannie had not embraced her tenderly, and promised to return before midnight. On the strength of this promise the old woman grew calm, and Fannie and her father went away to the ball.

But as the carriage drove through the streets, Fannie regretted her promise, and slipping her little hand under her cloak, she loosened the fatal watch, and flung it into a deep ditch.

“At last! At last!” she said to herself, with a sigh of relief.

Midnight sounded, and found her breathlessly twirling around in the dance, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks glowing.

“_Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!_”

The orchestra stopped suddenly. The thunderclaps--for so they seemed to be--continued to follow each other without interruption.

“_Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!_”

All the city was awake. Women cried out that the end of the world was come.

The unfortunate Fannie knew in a minute what it was. Fright seized her, and she lost her head. Instead of returning home quietly, which would have put an end to the horrible racket, she ran out into the street, and, wild with fright, hastened with all speed to the spot where she had thrown the watch.

“_Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!_”

The houses were lighted. The amazed people thrust their heads out the windows. All that they saw was a young girl running through the streets, her neck and head bare, and her ball-gown flying in the wind.

“_Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!_”--every stroke was louder and more fearful.

The firemen came hurrying up to see if there was a fire, and one of them held his lantern under Fannie’s nose, and cried out: “Why, it is little Miss Tardy! She has doubtless lost the time, and is hunting for it! Ha! Ha!”

Meanwhile Fannie ran on, and arrived breathlessly at the ditch into which she had flung the watch. Guided by its thunderous blows, she quickly laid her fingers on it. In a fury she was about to dash it against a stone when she felt a hand on her arm.

It was her Fairy Godmother, who, in gentle tones of reproach, said: “What are you doing, my child? You can never succeed!”

Then she took the watch from Fannie, which instantly became quiet, and passed the chain around the neck of her goddaughter, who was trembling with penitence and shame.

“Neither violence nor trickery,” said her Godmother, “have any power over my gift to you. All you can do is to take it, and obey. And then you will find yourself happy.”

At the same moment Miss Tardy felt herself being transported through the air, and found herself once more in her own room, holding the hand of her old nurse, who was weeping with tenderness and joy.

I have no need to tell you that Fannie never again attempted to disobey the protecting tyrant that she wore around her neck. And as the watch no longer had to warn her with its loud ticking, she learned in time to enjoy sacrificing her whims to her duty.

_Jean Macé_ (_Adapted_)

QUEEN MAB

A little Fairy comes at night; Her eyes are blue, her hair is brown, With silver spots upon her wings, And from the moon she flutters down.

She has a little silver wand; And when a good child goes to bed, She waves her wand from right to left, And makes a circle round its head.

And then it dreams of pleasant things, Of fountains filled with Fairy fish, And trees that bear delicious fruit, And bow their branches at a wish;

Of arbours filled with dainty scents From lovely flowers that never fade; Bright flies that glitter in the sun And glow-worms shining in the shade;

And talking birds with gifted tongues For singing songs and telling tales, And pretty Dwarfs to show the way Through Fairy hills and Fairy dales.

But when a bad child goes to bed, From left to right she weaves her rings, And then it dreams all through the night Of only ugly horrid things!

Then wicked children wake and weep, And wish the long black gloom away; But good ones love the dark, and find The night as pleasant as the day.

_Thomas Hood_ (_Condensed_)

FAIRY ADVENTURES

_A little knight and little maid Met on the rim of Fairyland; A rippling stream betwixt them played; The little knight reached out his hand,_

_And said: “Now, may I cross to you, Or will you come across to me?” Out spoke the little maiden true: “Sir knight, nor this nor that can be:_

_“For I am here white flowers to sow, That little maidens far behind, Or wandering on the plains below, Their pathway up the hill may find._

_“And you are there good work to do; To clear the brambles from the way, That little knights who follow you May not upon the mountains stray.”_

LUCY LARCOM

FAIRY DO-NOTHING AND GIANT SNAP-’EM-UP

In the days of yore there lived a very idle, greedy, naughty boy such as we never hear of in these times. His name was Master No-Book. The young gentleman hated lessons like mustard, both of which brought tears to his eyes. And during school hours he sat gazing at his books, pretending to be busy, while he considered where he could get the nicest pies, pastries, ices, and jellies. He smacked his lips at the very thought of them.

Whenever Master No-Book spoke, it was to ask for a piece of cake, or an apple, or a bit of plum pudding. Indeed, very frequently when he did not get permission to eat the goodies, this naughty glutton helped himself without leave.

One afternoon Master No-Book, having played truant from school, was lolling on his mamma’s best sofa, with his leather boots tucked up on the satin cushions, and nothing to do but to suck a few oranges, and nothing to think of but how much sugar to put into them, when suddenly an event took place which filled him with astonishment.

A sound of soft music stole into the room, becoming louder and louder, the longer he listened, till at length a large hole burst open in the wall of the room. Then there stepped into his presence two magnificent Fairies, just arrived from their castles in the air, to pay him a visit. They had travelled all the way on purpose to talk with Master No-Book.

The Fairy Do-Nothing was gorgeously dressed with a wreath of flames round her head, a robe of gold tissue, a necklace of rubies, and a bouquet of glittering diamonds in her hand. Her teeth were gold, her hair was of the most brilliant purple, and her eyes were green. In fact she was a most fine and fashionable Fairy.

The Fairy Teach-All, who followed next, was simply dressed in white muslin, with bunches of natural flowers in her brown hair; and she carried a few, neat, small books, which made Master No-Book shudder.

The two Fairies now informed him that they very often invited large parties of children to spend some time at their palaces. Therefore they had now come to invite Master No-Book, but as they lived in opposite directions, he would have to choose which he would visit first.

“In my house,” said the Fairy Teach-All, speaking with a very sweet smile, and a soft, pleasing voice, “my young friends rise at seven every morning, and amuse themselves with working in a beautiful garden of flowers, raising fruits of all kinds, visiting the poor, playing together, and learning to know the world they live in and how to fulfill the purposes for which they have been brought into it. In short, all our amusements tend to some useful object; and you will grow wiser, better, and happier every day you remain in the Palace of Knowledge.”

“But in the Castle Needless, where I live,” interrupted the Fairy Do-Nothing, rudely pushing her companion aside, “we never think of working. No one is ever asked a question. We lead the most fashionable life imaginable. Each of my visitors sits with his back to as many of the company as possible, and whenever he can, he sits in the most comfortable chair. If he takes the trouble to wish for anything, he gets it. Clothes are provided of the most magnificent kinds, which go on by themselves without buttons or strings. Delicious dishes are served smoking hot under his nose, at all hours, while any rain that falls is of lemonade, chocolate, and cider. And in Winter it generally snows ice-cream and tutti-frutti, for an hour during the forenoon.”

Nobody need be told which Fairy Master No-Book preferred. And quite charmed at his good fortune in receiving such a delightful invitation, he eagerly gave his hand to his splendid new acquaintance, who promised him so much pleasure and ease. He gladly proceeded with her in a carriage lined with velvet, stuffed with downy pillows, and drawn by milk-white swans, to that magnificent residence, Castle Needless, which was lighted by a thousand windows during the day and by a million lamps at night.

Here Master No-Book enjoyed a constant holiday and a continual feast. A beautiful lady, covered with jewels, was ready to tell him stories from morning till night. Servants waited to pick up his playthings if they fell, and to draw out his purse or pocket handkerchief when he wished to use them.

Thus Master No-Book lay dozing for hours and days on richly embroidered cushions, never stirring from his place in the garden, but admiring the view of trees covered with the richest burnt almonds, the grottoes of sugar-candy, a fountain of lemonade, and a bright clear pond filled with goldfish that let themselves be caught.

Nothing could be more complete, yet strange to say Master No-Book did not seem particularly happy. Every day he became more peevish. No sweetmeats were worth the trouble of eating, no game was pleasant to play, and he wished that it were possible to sleep all day as well as night.

Not a hundred miles from the Fairy Do-Nothing’s palace, there lived a cruel monster called the Giant Snap-’Em-Up. When he stood erect, he looked like the tall steeple of a great church. He raised his head so high that he could peep over the loftiest mountains; and he was obliged to climb a ladder to comb his own hair.

Every morning this prodigiously great Giant walked round the world before breakfast, looking for something to eat. He lived in fine style, and his dinners were most magnificent, consisting of an elephant roasted whole, ostrich patties, a tiger smothered in onions, stewed lions, and whale soup. But for a side dish, his favourite of all consisted of little boys, as fat as possible, fried in crumbs of bread with plenty of pepper and salt.

No children were so well-fed or in such good condition for eating as those in the Fairy Do-Nothing’s garden, who was a particular friend of the Giant Snap-’Em-Up. She oftentimes laughingly said that she gave him permission to help himself, whenever he pleased, to as many of her visitors as he chose. And in return for such civility the Giant often invited her to dinner.

One day, when Master No-Book felt even more lazy, more idle, more miserable than ever, he lay beside a perfect mountain of toys and cakes, wondering what to wish for next, and hating the very sight of everything and everybody. At last he gave so loud a yawn of weariness and disgust, and he sighed so deeply, that the Giant Snap-’Em-Up heard the sounds as he passed along the road before breakfast.

Instantly he stepped into the garden to see what was the matter. On observing a large, fat, overgrown boy, as round as a dumpling, lying on a bed of roses, he gave a cry of delight, followed by a gigantic peal of laughter which was heard three miles off.

Picking up Master No-Book between his finger and thumb, with a pinch that nearly broke his ribs, he carried him rapidly toward his own castle; while the Fairy Do-Nothing laughingly shook her head as he passed, saying:--

“That little man does me great credit! He has been fed only for a week, and is as fat already as a prize ox! What a dainty morsel he will be! When do you dine, my friend Snap-’Em-Up, in case I should have time to look in upon you?”

On reaching home the Giant immediately hung up Master No-Book by the hair of his head on a prodigious hook in the larder. Then he went away to look for more little boys.

There, in torture of mind and body--like a fish on a hook--the wretched Master No-Book began to reflect seriously on his former ways, and to consider what a happy home he might have had if he had been satisfied to go to school and study with the other boys.

In the midst of these sad reflections, Master No-Book’s attention was attracted by the sound of many voices laughing, talking, and singing, which caused him to turn his eyes and look out of the larder window. For the first time he observed that the Fairy Teach-All’s garden lay upon a beautiful sloping bank not far away.

There a crowd of merry, noisy, rosy-cheeked boys were busily employed, and seemed happier than the day was long. Poor Master No-Book watched them, envying the enjoyment with which they raked the flower-borders, gathered fruit, carried baskets of vegetables to the poor, worked with carpenters’ tools, drew pictures, shot with bows and arrows, and played ball. Then they sat in sunny arbours learning their lessons, till, the dinner-bell having been rung, the whole party sat down to a feast of roast meat, apple-pie, and other good wholesome things. The Fairy Teach-All presided, and helped her guests to as much as was good for them.

Large tears rolled down the cheeks of Master No-Book while watching this scene, and remembering that if he had known what was best for him, he might have been as happy as the happiest of these excellent boys, instead of being about to suffer a most miserable death.

Now, as the Giant Snap-’Em-Up wished a nice dish of fried boys for dinner, and as there was plenty of time, he seized a large basket in his hand, and set off at a rapid pace toward the Fairy Teach-All’s garden. It was very seldom that Snap-’Em-Up ventured to forage there, as he had never once succeeded in carrying off a single captive from that garden, it was so well fortified and so bravely defended. But on this occasion, being desperately hungry, he felt bold as a lion, and walked with outstretched hands straight toward the Fairy Teach-All’s dinner-table, taking such huge strides that he seemed almost to trample on himself.

A cry of consternation arose the minute this tremendous Giant appeared. And as usual, as when on such occasions he had made the same attempt before, a dreadful battle took place. Fifty active little boys flew upon the enemy with their dinner knives, and like a nest of hornets, stung him in every direction, till he roared with pain, and would have run away; but the Fairy Teach-All rushed forward, and cut off his head with the carving-knife.

If a great mountain had fallen to the earth, it would have seemed like nothing in comparison with the Giant Snap-’Em-Up, who crushed houses to powder under him. But the greatest event which occurred was the death of the Fairy Do-Nothing, who had been looking on at this battle, and who was too lazy to run away. When the Giant fell, his sword came with so violent a stroke on her head that she instantly expired.

The Fairy Teach-All, seeing the enemy dead, hastened to the Giant’s Castle, and lost no time in liberating Master No-Book from his hook in the larder.

From this very hour, Master No-Book became the most diligent, active, happy boy in the Fairy Teach-All’s garden. And on returning home a few months afterward, he astonished all his teachers at school by his wisdom and studiousness. He scarcely ever stirred without a book in his hand, never lay on a sofa again, and preferred a three-legged stool to a comfortable chair with a back. He detested holidays, and never ate a morsel of food till he had worked very hard and got an appetite.

When he grew up, he was known as Sir Timothy Bluestocking. And though generally very good-natured and agreeable, Sir Timothy was occasionally to be seen in a violent passion, laying around him with his walking-stick, and beating little boys within an inch of their lives. It invariably appeared that he had found them to be lazy, idle, or greedy.

_Catherine Sinclair_ (_Adapted_)

TIMOTHY TUTTLE AND THE LITTLE IMPS

Timothy Tuttle, Esquire, was reclining on his soft, comfortable sofa. The gas-light flashed brilliantly over the rich rug and rosewood furniture, and fell softly on the velvet-seated chairs and heavy curtains. It was a mild evening in June, and the cool air came refreshingly in, while the bright light flashed gaily out the windows.

Timothy Tuttle, Esquire, one of the richest merchants in the city, was reposing after the fatigues of the day. He was thinking how very good and respectable he was, and of his success in life, of his great wealth, and especially of his ships now in the China seas, which were bringing him even more wealth. Then he thought of his plans for a fine new mansion, and how he would now be able to purchase many costly things for his home. Very soon he grew weary, and fell asleep.

Suddenly he awoke and heard something moving over the rug, and turning his head to see what it was, beheld a dozen or more of the strangest little creatures capering about. They were like little Imps in human form, but winged and not higher than Timothy’s knee. They were coal-black from head to foot, and were moving around with grace and agility.

Timothy Tuttle was a brave man, but he was very much startled to see this unexpected sight. For as soon as the little Imps perceived that he was awake, they began to bow to him in quick succession, more and more rapidly, and all the time grinning and showing their white teeth from ear to ear.

Then Timothy Tuttle heard something squeak close to his head, and saw one of the little creatures sitting on the arm of the sofa and mowing at him.

“Don’t be afraid, Timothy, it’s only I!” it squeaked.

“Who on earth are you,” asked Timothy, “and what do you want?”

This question seemed to amuse all the little fellows hugely, for they began to bow again, grinning and capering in fine style, and crying out:--

“How do you do, Timothy?”

“We are very glad to see you, Timothy!”

“Don’t be afraid, Timothy, we’re all here!”

“I am glad of that!” exclaimed Timothy; “I’m glad that there are no more of you!”

“Plenty more! Plenty more, Timothy!” they cried, laughing and holding their sides. “But we’ll do, Timothy! We’ll do! Oh, yes, we’ll do! We’ll do!”

Timothy Tuttle was no coward, but he could not help feeling somewhat frightened as he looked at their antics; and he gazed around to see where they could have come in. The door was locked, and only the window was open.

“What do you want? Go away! Go away!” he cried, in a husky voice.

The little Imps grinned all the more.

“Dee-lighted to see you, Timothy!”

“Flattering reception, Timothy!”

“We’ll be happy to stay, Timothy!”

And with that they began to bow again with great politeness.

Timothy looked about for some weapon of defence, but saw nothing within reach.

“What do you want?” he demanded again.

“Want you, Timothy!”

“Must come with us, Timothy!”

“Where to?” he demanded.

At that all the little Imps pointed over their shoulders with their thumbs, to the open window.

Timothy reflected that, as he was in the second story of the house, any attempt to go out by the window, without wings, would be preposterous. He drew his hand across his eyes to make sure that he was not asleep; then he looked again, and there were all the little Imps bowing more politely than ever. He seized a pillow, and was about to throw it at them, when they flew at him, dragged the pillow out of his hands, overpowered him, and picking him up by the arms and legs, flew out of the window, carrying him off bodily.

How far he was carried Timothy Tuttle never knew, but it seemed to him a very long distance. When he found himself again at liberty, he was lying on the bare ground in the cold moonlight. He sprang up, and saw all the little Imps standing in a circle around him, bowing and nodding with great good-humour.

He looked about. He found himself on an open plain, surrounded by forests. Nothing was in sight except a very large Gothic building in the centre of the plain. It was old, but a larger and more magnificent building Timothy had never seen. Its pointed roof rose to the skies, and stained-glass windows adorned its gray stone walls. The turrets and towers were beautifully carved, and the walls were hung here and there with green ivy. But the building was falling into decay. Some of the windows were broken, and some of the stones crumbling to ruin. A few of the arches were fallen, and the roof threatened to cave in.

Timothy Tuttle turned from surveying this building, to look at his grinning companions.

“You’re wanted, Timothy!” cried one.

“Where?” he asked hoarsely.

They all pointed over their shoulders with their thumbs at the great door of the building.

“But what if I will not go?” he asked, in as cool and determined a voice as he could assume.

At this all the little Imps began to caper about in great glee, singing:--

“_Mortals rash Who disobey, Little Imps Will bear away! If they still Refuse to go, If they dare To answer, ‘No!’ Take a pin, And stick it in!_”

At that instant Timothy Tuttle felt a sharp pain in one of his legs, and he could not help crying out. He knew that there was nothing to do but to obey, so he turned and walked toward the building, while the quick patter of tiny feet and the flutter of wings told him that the little Imps were close behind.

Only once did he turn his head, and his ears were greeted with:--

“Oh, yes, Timothy! We’re all here!”

When Timothy had entered the door, he found that the interior of the building was one great room. Around its sides were galleries rising tier above tier, and under the galleries were recesses and alcoves; still, it was all one room.

From the centre of the arched ceiling hung a splendid chandelier, with a thousand lamps. But most of the lights were extinguished, and the few that were burning, flickered and smoked so badly that the building was dimly lighted.

When Timothy first entered, his ears were filled with a hissing and fluttering sound, and after he had been there long enough to become used to the dim light, he saw that the whole building was full of just such little Imps as had brought him hither. They were flying up and down, and flitting to and fro, and seemed very busy. Looking up, he saw four or five large windows through which some appeared to fly away, while others would dart through into the building with great swiftness, just as bees come and go from the hive. But the most astonishing part of it all was their extraordinary politeness to Timothy, and the grinning that showed on all sides as he entered.

Now, as we have said before, Timothy Tuttle was no coward, and, stepping up to one of the little Imps who had just flown in, he said:--

“You seem to know me.”

“Oh, yes, Timothy!” replied the little fellow, nodding violently. “Yes! I know you! I know you!”

“Well, where do you all go to out those windows? And where do you come from?”

“Oh, I’ve just been to China!”

Timothy looked as if he did not believe him.

“Yes, I’ve just been to the China seas, on board your ships, and I have been counting your wealth.” And the little wretch winked fast and knowingly.

Timothy was dumb. He remembered what he had been thinking when he fell asleep.

His grinning companion left him, and he wandered about the great edifice, where he saw a large number of little Imps busily at work. Some were painting the wall with small brushes. It was amazing to see how rapidly they could sketch a picture.

Timothy watched them for a moment, and fairly held his breath when he saw one by one past scenes of his own life start out upon the wall. Many of the scenes he had thought that no one knew of but himself. But here one or another of his deeds, good and bad, was drawn to the very life upon the wall! And as they worked, the little fellows grinned and sang, but Timothy could not understand what they said.

Timothy turned away from these grinning little creatures, and moved to where another group were sketching other pictures. He was almost afraid to look at the pictures, but when he did so, he saw that the painters were making designs too ugly and horrid to look at. But Timothy was perplexed, for of all the pictures there was none that he did not think he had seen _somewhere_ before. And these little Imps were singing the same song that the others were singing, and Timothy thought that he caught the refrain:--

“_Bad little, Sad little, Mad little Thoughts!_”

Here he turned to look into the recesses and alcoves under the galleries. Not all the inhabitants of the edifice were like the little creatures who had brought him hither. Oh, no! In the shadows of the great pillars there lurked and crawled great slimy things that made one shudder to see. Enormous spiders, larger than any Timothy had ever dreamed of, ran swiftly across the floor. Centipedes and lizards clung to the mouldy walls, and cold, slippery serpents glided noiselessly along. Occasionally he came upon huge shapeless creatures who lay curled upon the floor, staring at him with watery eyes.

Timothy hastily picked his way out into the light again. Here he found other groups of painters. One group was using brighter colours and blending them beautifully. But he could scarcely believe his own eyes when he saw the picture of the fine mansion he was planning, and the images of a thousand other things he had wished and hoped for.

But the painters in the next group were acting very strangely. They touched their brushes to the wall hastily and tremblingly, glancing over their shoulders as if in terror. And though their pictures did not assume any definite form, Timothy felt most uneasy. There he saw the dim outline of another world of which he had heard, but had forgotten to think of for many years.

Meanwhile Timothy had reached the upper end of the room, and found himself close to a great curtain tightly drawn. On either side of it he beheld a marble basin. One of the basins had evidently contained a fountain, but it was now half choked with mud, and only a little water oozed out of it. On looking into the other, he was astonished to find it full of liquid fire.

Just then he heard behind the curtain the sound as of a mighty rushing wind, and at the same moment the two fountains boiled up and cast out their dirt, and this they continued to do until each basin was brimming full, one of pure water and the other of pure fire.

The little Imps, too, heard the sound. At first they were awed and hushed; then they began to fly about in confusion until Timothy was bewildered by the noise and movement.

Suddenly the curtain was parted, and Timothy saw a stately Lady seated upon a throne in a noble arched recess. Her head was thrown back, her eyes flashed, and in her hand she held a scourge every thong of which seemed to writhe and twist and end in little snappers of fire.

At the sight of this scourge and the frown on the Lady’s face, all the little Imps began to howl dismally. The Lady arose, and came down from her throne into the centre of the room, and the little Imps fled before her. But they could not escape. Seizing the first one she met, she plunged him several times into the basin of water. Then taking him out, she carried him kicking and quivering to the other basin, and plunged him into the fire. Timothy stood horror-stricken. He leaned against a pillar to support himself, but what was his astonishment to see the Lady take the little fellow out of the basin, and release him; and he ran away unharmed. But a strange thing had happened. The little Imp was no longer so black, and instead of grinning maliciously, he was now smiling as pleasantly as possible.

The Lady seized every little Imp in the room, in the same manner, and plunged him into both basins. Then she collected troops of the Imps, and drove them before her with the fiery scourge. She made them begin to scrape the dirt off the floor, and down from the walls, to repair the broken places in the roof, and to polish the rusty and musty spots. And all the rubbish she made them throw into the basin full of pure fire. Sometimes two or three little Imps would carry one of the great slimy reptiles, and drop him in, and all those thus dropped into the fire never came out again.

And as the little Imps worked, they broke into a song:--

“_All the rubbish Thither take! Little whip Will make us ache! Tug! Tug! The big bug, Spider foul, And slimy thing, In the fire, Lightly fling!_

“_Rub! Rub! Off the rust! Sweep! Sweep! Away the dust! Sparkle! Sparkle! Precious stone, Pearly roof, And ivory throne!_

“_Oh, dear! dear! dear! Hear the fiery lashes crack! On each little lazy back! Hear the glowing basin boil! Little Imps must burn or toil!_”

Timothy watched and listened until he became very weary; then he stretched himself out on the floor and fell asleep.

When he awoke, he found himself lying in a dazzling light. How long he had been asleep he did not know. He sprang to his feet with an agility and ease that he had never felt before. He looked about him. There was still the same great room, the same chandelier with its thousand lamps, the same pattering of little feet and rustling of wings! But, oh, how changed! How changed!

The arched roof was composed of transparent pearl, delicately carved, and fretted with lines of brilliant rose-diamonds. Pendants hung from the arches, formed of great diamonds and pearls cut into exquisite shapes. The walls were of ruby and topaz, and sparkled with mosaics of precious gems, representing scenes more beautiful than any ever seen on earth. The huge pillars were of jasper and around them was twined the graceful immortal amaranth. The floor was of coloured marble, inlaid with onyx and amethyst.

In the noble recess at the end of the room, sat the Lady on a throne carved from ivory and studded with diamonds. Her scourge and frown had disappeared, and from her smiling countenance shone a divine beauty.

The chandelier, every lamp of which was now pouring out a silver light, sent a glowing radiance into the farthest corners and recesses under the galleries, and revealed no signs of stain or shadow. The basins threw high their spray of sparkling water and pure fire, looking like fountains of liquid light, which fell back again with the softest music.

But the greatest change of all was in the little Imps. They were each and all of a purer transparency of white than anything Timothy had ever conceived. And there was not one upon whose face did not play a smile of joy. Some of them were working harder than ever, while others were bathing in the fountains, darting and fluttering in and out of the spray. They looked as light and brilliant as soap-bubbles in the sun, and flashing from their wings were all the colours of the rainbow. Indeed, the little Imps shone so brightly that Timothy could scarcely look at them.

But while he was examining all these wonderful changes with admiration, he heard a silver trumpet ring through the edifice. And as its sweet notes died away among the pearl arches, the little Imps with myriad voices, as sweet and clear as the trumpet-call, sang:--

“_Lightly we rise In the azure shies! Lightly we dart away! Lightly we roam Through the boundless dome! Or in pathless depths we stray! Bright little, White little, Light little Thoughts!_

“_When we would try How high we can fly, When we would gaze On His brightest rays, When through glory we range, In colours strange, Lightly we turn to God! There hide! There abide! Bright little, White little, Light little Thoughts!_”

Then the most amazing thing of all happened. Timothy Tuttle, Esquire, suddenly found himself lying once more on the soft, comfortable sofa in his own home. The gas-light was flashing over the rich rug and rosewood furniture, just as it had done when he had last seen the room. He raised himself on his elbow and looked around, but not one of the little Imps was there. Indeed, he could find no traces of them except the marks of their tiny black feet on the rug.

But from that day forward Timothy was a changed man. His face was no longer hard and selfish, but it beamed with good and kind thoughts. He no longer preferred wealth to everything else in the world. He gave up the plan for his fine new mansion--indeed, he no longer wished for one--and he spent the remainder of his days making his family and friends happy, and relieving the poor and needy.

_Dr. John Todd_ (_Adapted_)

BUTTERFLY’S DIAMOND

Once upon a time there was a little Fairy who was remarkable for her impatience and laziness. She was called Fairy Butterfly because she had such splendid green wings with silver spots on them. She loved dearly to be dressed in gorgeous colours, and to sleep in the rich chambers of the Foxgloves, or to flutter over beds of fragrant Mignonette. In truth, she was as luxurious a little Fairy as the sun ever shone on. So much did she like her ease that she would not gather a single dew-drop to bathe her face, nor would she pick a fresh rose-petal for a napkin. She played all day long, or slept curled up in the heart of a flower. Oh, she was a lazy Fairy!

When the Queen of the Fairies observed the faults of Butterfly, she resolved to help her to correct them. One day she summoned the lazy one to Court, and said:--

“Fairy Butterfly, we command you to go at once to the Green Cavern in the Island of Ceylon, and remain there until you have fashioned a diamond more pure and brilliant than any that has ever rested on the brow of mortal or Elf.”

Little Butterfly bowed in silence and withdrew. As soon as she was outside the green mound in which the Fairy Queen held her Court, she burst into a passionate flood of tears.

“I shall have to watch that diamond for months and months and years and years,” sobbed she, “and every day I must turn it over with my wand so that the crystals will form evenly! Oh, it is an endless labour to make a diamond! Oh, I am a most wretched Fairy!”

So she sat, and sobbed, and murmured for several minutes. Then she jumped up and stamped her little feet on the ground so furiously that the blue-eyed grasses trembled.

“I won’t bear it!” she exclaimed. “I’ll run away to the Fairies of the Air. I am sure they will be so pleased with my beauty that they will feed me, and I shall never need to work again! As for the diamond, why, it is just impossible for a little Fairy like me to make it!”

Then she peeped into a fountain to admire herself, and saw, alas! that the splendid green of her wings had faded, and the silver spots were