Part 1

THE

YULE LOG.

A SERIES OF STORIES

FOR THE YOUNG.

NEW YORK:

STANFORD & DELISSER, 508 BROADWAY.

1859.

ENTERED according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1858, by

STANFORD AND DELISSER,

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.

INTRODUCTION.

It was an old custom, and one that still holds in many parts of England, to cut and dry, in order for burning, an enormous log, or “clog,” as it was anciently called; the trunk or root of a very large tree was generally used, which on “Merrie” Christmas Eve was paraded into the house, the father bearing it in his arms, and his family marching after to the sound of music. It was then introduced into the great kitchen fire-place, and having lighted it with a brand which had been carefully preserved from the last year’s clog, the household drew about the cheerful fire, and inspired by its warmth, and deep draughts of nut-brown ale, “the song and tale went round.” Many such a Christmas Eve have I sat and listened to the tales so marvelous and strange; and now, far away from those bygone scenes, I have striven to snatch from the decaying embers of memory, a little brand to light for my youthful readers a new “Yule Clog” for the coming Christmas season.

G. M. B.

GOLDEN HILL, } _November, 1858_.}

CONTENTS.

THE BOY AND HIS SILVER WINGS 7

THE SPARROW AND THE FAIRY 17

THE PRINCESS AND THE ROSE 28

THE BEAUTY IN THE MIST 39

THE RICH PERSIAN AND THE STATUE 55

THE ROSE AND THE LILY 76

THE GOLDEN CLOAK 86

THE WONDERFUL BIRD 111

THE MERMAID AND HER CHILD 133

THE YULE LOG.

I.

THE BOY AND HIS SILVER WINGS.

A little boy used to sit and gaze at the stars, and wonder and wonder. One in particular caught his attention; it was full and round, and shone with a clear, steady light. One summer evening as he sat in the balcony, he saw it rise above the horizon, and then gradually go up higher and higher. He was so full of thought, and so intent watching it, that he forgot everything about him, till his mother came to him, put her hand on his shoulder, and told him it was bed-time.

After he had gone to bed, he dreamed of his star, and presently awakening, his mind was so full of it, that he would steal out softly, while all in the house were asleep, and see what had become of it. When he reached the balcony he could not at first find it, as it had changed its place while he had been slumbering, but on looking directly overhead, there it was shining down upon him, and as he looked steadily at it, he thought that it seemed almost to smile at him, and twinkle more and more. By and by he remembered he had heard that the stars were worlds like our own, and that there were, most likely, inhabitants in them. He then wondered if the people were like his father and mother and himself; and a longing came into his heart to go to the star and learn all about it, and he stretched out his arms to it and cried aloud, “My own beautiful star, shall I ever be ready to read you and to know all your glories?”

While he was still yearning and crying, a bright angel stood before him and cried, “Poor boy, why do you weep?” The boy answered, “Because I am bound down to the earth, and can never go to yonder shining star that seems to be calling me.”

The angel said, “Do you really then so desire to see it?” and the boy told her how he had been wishing and wishing for it. “Then,” said the angel, “I will give you this pair of wings, by which you may fly upward to the star;” and as she spoke she fastened a pair of silver wings upon his shoulders, and having instructed him how to use them, added, “As long as these are kept brightly polished, they will bear you upward whenever you may desire it, but if suffered to grow dull and to get tarnished, they will no longer avail you.”

The boy thanked her, and felt sure that he never should neglect to keep the angel’s gift, which was to be the source of so much happiness to him, bright and shining as now. She then left him. Again looking at the star, and spreading forth his wings, as directed, he began gently to arise, fluttering and tumbling like a young bird taking its first flight; but gaining boldness as he ascended, he breathed freer, till at last he soared far, far on high, to the star, the beacon towards which he was directing his course; his bosom swelled triumphantly, and looking back, he saw the earth receding like a dull spark beneath him. O, how unlike the glorious light before him! When at last he reached the golden gates, where stood the angel waiting to receive him, his eyes were so dazzled with the brightness that burst upon him, when first he entered, he could no longer perceive anything around him, but was, for a time, as one blind. Soon, however, regaining his vision, he began to descry beings unlike those that he had ever seen before, almost transparent, with wings of golden gauze, sweeping hither and thither; forward bending their pinions, they skimmed along like beams of light--myriads upon myriads passing to and fro, some bearing harps, from whose strings such notes arose as mortal ne’er has heard. Unlike the toiling inhabitants of earth, these beings knew no labor, no hunger, no thirst--all was life, freedom, and enjoyment. The boy’s soul was stirred within him; he could have shouted aloud for joy and gladness.

But now the angel told him that he must return to earth. At this intelligence the boy’s heart grew sad, and he exclaimed, “Bright angel, let me ever remain here--let this be forever more my home!” To this the angel replied, “Your time on earth is appointed--you must fulfill your days,--but while you still keep these wings bright, you can be permitted such glimpses of this world above you as may refresh your weary heart, and when the time for your sojourn beneath is ended, this higher sphere may be your eternal home.”

The angel attended him through the golden portals,--descended with him to the earth again, and alighted upon the same spot from whence he had arisen.

The boy sat himself to work after the angel had left him, to erase from his wings every dull speck that the dampness of the night had left upon them; and presently, when polished as a mirror, and he had laid them carefully away, he retired to rest again and slept till the morning dawned. When he had arisen and looked forth, the scene which used to be so dazzling, now looked dull and blank to him, in comparison with the light of his beloved star. All day long his thoughts were there, and when night came again, he was once more trying his new-found wings toward the heavens. Every successive flight became easier and more delightful to him, and the fleet moments spent among those superior beings became of far more consequence than whole days with his earthly friends. Though short his visits there, he became, as it were, like those glorious beings--and it was remarked by all, that the child’s face shone with an unearthly light, though none knew of his flights to the star above, or the secret of his silver wings.

O! had this childlike obedience to the injunction of the angel continued, what happiness might the boy have always enjoyed! how would these nightly visits to the star have solaced him during the weary hours of his pilgrimage below! But the demon of idleness came at length, stealing in. With diligence _at first_, he polished, nightly, the silver wings; but soon the task became irksome, and was performed less thoroughly--at times omitting it altogether, till they became each day more difficult to use. He deferred his visits, and made them less frequent, till one night, after having neglected his opportunities for a longer period than ever, in attempting to rise with them, he found that they had entirely lost their power. On taking them off to see the cause of his failure, he beheld the once shining wings of silver so tarnished, that not one bright spot in them was visible. A burst of grief followed this discovery, and he cried again to the angel to come to him in his distress; but finding no answer to his petition he laid them aside and endeavored to forget all about them.

The boy became a man. In the lonely night, sometimes, the visions of his boyhood, and his visits to the star, would present themselves to his memory, and he would have a momentary longing for the brightness of those days, but as soon would he dismiss them, and even doubt that he had ever known such hours of bliss. He would say, “The silver wings were never mine--it was a fantasy of a diseased fancy, born of ignorance and superstition, which the light of the sun of manhood has dissipated;” and then he would weave in his fertile brain plans for an earthly future, more suiting the changed state of his soul than the revelations of his youth.

He passed the summer of his manhood, and in the autumn, crowned with success, he looked for the peace that never came. He found that in every rose of earth is hid a thorn, and when the winter of age advanced toward him, it found him a poor old man, seeking again the home of his boyhood; and there, with his grandchildren about him, looking forward to a termination and a transit from the present scene. And now, as the second childhood came upon him, his old habits grew; and one of them, gazing and longing for that one bright star, resumed its old force, so that night after night he would be found with his eyes upturned; but the tears would dim them, when he thought of the days, when, at his pleasure, he could have reached its golden gates; but now he was shut out, and each day he grew sadder and sadder as he contemplated its undimmed splendor.

One day his grandchild ran to him and cried, “O! grandpa, see what I have found, while searching among the lumber in the attic!” The old man took from the hands of the wondering boy, a little pair of black and tarnished wings; he knew at once the angel’s gift to his boyhood, and the tears flowed down his furrowed cheeks. He took the child on his knee, and told him all about the bright star, the angel, and the silver wings, which his careless idleness had suffered to grow dim till they lost forever their power. The child heard and believed--wept, as his grandsire wept--and after the tale had ceased, he paused awhile--yet presently exclaimed, “But can these wings never again be made as bright! O let us try together, and see if they may not shine as before!”

A bright change came upon the face of the old man, and with his trembling hands, assisted by those of the child, (both feeble, yet both untiring,) commenced the work. Very slow, indeed was the progress they made in removing the rust that years had accumulated; but at length, by little and little, the pale silver shone amid the blackness, till one night, after long and patient labor, the child, with joyous shouts and gladness, and the old man with a calm, placid smile amid his tears, announced that “the work was completed.” Calmly he folded and laid away the polished wings, but at midnight, when the child and all the household were hushed and silent, the tottering old man stood in the place, (with his silver wings,) where years before he had stood, with his eyes now, as then, raised to the star; he stretched his arms toward it and mounted up, till on entering the golden gates, they closed behind him. The star was his resting-place forever.

II.

THE SPARROW AND THE FAIRY.

A fairy once stood by the sea-shore, watching the foam, as it dashed upon the beach, when an ocean bird caught her up in its beak, and flew with her far away over the waters. They came, at last, directly above the deck of a vessel, and one of the mariners, seeing a black speck in the sky, discharged a musket, which so frightened the bird, it let the fairy drop down on the ship, but while she was falling, she had the precaution to take the form of a sparrow to conceal herself. The sailors gathered round, and wondered to see a sparrow, so far away from the land, and one of them was going to fling it overboard, when a little cabin-boy ran forward, and begged that it might be given to him, which was done, and he ran with the panting trembling thing into the store-room, where, amid the boxes and hampers of provisions, he made his poor bed, of straw and a blanket. He found an empty orange-box, placed a little nest of wool in the corner, in which he put the sparrow, and then went out again to his work; but came in often during the day, to see how it was getting along. At night he drew it up to his own bed, and was just going to sleep, when out of the box sprang the prettiest lady in green, about six inches high, that you ever saw in your life. The boy got up, and opened his eyes in wonder, and she came and sat down on his bed by him. He then looked into his box, and missing his sparrow, burst into tears. When she asked him what was the matter; he told her that he cried because his sparrow was gone, and in a twinkling, the little lady had vanished, and the sparrow was in its nest, as snug and warm as before. The next day, every chance he could get, he would be running in to look at his sparrow, and when night came again, and the door was fastened, out jumped the little lady in green, who came and played nice little games with him, and told him wonderful stories, and so fond did he grow of her, he did not mind that the sparrow disappeared, as soon as the little green lady came.

He used so often to run into his room, to talk with her, that it began to be remarked by the sailors; that the boy who was always before on deck, was now moping down in the cabin, by himself, and they resolved to watch him, and see what he did there. So one of them stood by the door, when he entered, and when it was shut, he thought he heard voices talking, and, peeping through the keyhole, saw a little green lady, dancing over the boxes as light as a feather. He told this to the others, and they determined to find out the truth, so they burst open the door suddenly, and went in; but nothing was to be seen of the lady in green, or anything else, but the boxes, the little boy, and the sparrow in his warm nest; so after speaking roughly to the little fellow, all the sailors went out, no wiser than they came in. But from this time, his mates began to look upon him with distrust and suspicion: though before a favorite, he came to be much disliked by them, and they were very unkind to him; but the boy did not mind it, so long as he had such a good friend as the fairy.

But one night as a dreadful storm arose, so that they could no longer guide the vessel, they all declared the boy was the cause of their trouble--that he dealt in witchcraft, and must be thrown overboard, or the ship and all in it would sink. Notwithstanding that he begged them, with the tears pouring down his cheeks, to spare him, they were so hard-hearted as to pay no attention to his beseeching tones, and when he found that they were in earnest, he only asked them to let him go into his berth, for a few minutes, to say his prayers; to which they consented. He then took his sparrow, and put it in his bosom, that it might not be ill-treated after he had gone, and went out to them. A great rough sailor instantly seized him, and flung him with a whirl, over the side of the vessel. For a moment he hung above the glittering waves, that dashed, and foamed, and yawned, as if to swallow him alive, then he shut his eyes, and felt the cold waters rush and close over his head, and down, down, into the darkness, he kept sinking, sinking, till he heard the sea-monsters dash past him, and expected every moment to be devoured by them; but no, he escaped them all, and kept on falling, down, down. At last, he seemed to slip out of the waters, as it were, into clouds, and then into clear air, and hung a moment suspended in the sky, till he came plump on to the very softest and greenest turf, which yielded beneath him like a bed. He was not at all hurt, and getting up looked around bewildered, till feeling something stir in his bosom, he opened his vest, and out hopped the little green lady, and stood before him.

“Now,” said she, “I can repay you for all your care of me. I am a fairy, and this is one of my homes, and I can show you in a moment many of my kindred.” So saying, she blew a little bugle at her side, and many like herself began to flock about, and welcome her to her home. She gave command to them to bring some food, and directly these busy little people went to work, and spread on a little rocky table, the snowiest of cloths and the most delicious repast. After his hunger had been satisfied, the fairy pointed to the sky, and said: “Above those clouds, lies the sea, through which you have just now passed; this is what you call the bottom of the ocean, where dwell mermaids, sea-nymphs, and fairies.” The boy looked up, and wondered what prevented the ocean from coming down upon his head, and then reasoned to himself if that was not also a great sea, which he had called the sky over his mother’s cottage, and if that was not where all the rain came from? But he did not think long about this, for the fairy had such sights to show him, as he had never even dreamed of before, the houses were formed of coral, and pearls, and instead of glass, the windows had large slabs of pure diamond, to admit the light; the very pebbles under his feet were the most costly jewels, and the sun shining on them, dazzled his eyes, so that he could scarcely see. The fairy had a splendid mansion constructed for the boy, and a chariot, made of shells, and little fairy horses, so small that it took six of them to draw him. He had servants to wait on him, his table was supplied every day, with the most luscious fruits; he heard the sweetest music, and the fairy herself used to spend the most of her time with him, yet she noticed that he was often silent and sad. One day she found him weeping, and begged him to tell her the cause of his grief,--if there was anything yet wanting to complete his happiness? The boy dried his tears, and answered her. “Dear little lady, I have everything that heart can desire; fairies to wait on me, and anticipate my wishes; nothing to do but to amuse myself from morn till eve; but when I am enjoying all these things, my heart goes back to my poor widowed mother, who used to be always toiling for me, and I think that perhaps she is even now sick, or starving, for want of proper food; while I am idling here, she may be wearing herself out, in laboring for the support of my dear little brother, whom I long to see again; and even if she has been provided with the necessaries of life, I am sure that her heart is sad, for she most likely thinks that I am drowned in the ocean, and that I shall never again return to her. Do not then be astonished, if in the midst of all this beauty, and my good fortune, I am sad and weep.”

The fairy answered him: “You are a good child, not to forget your poor mother, and though I should be glad to have you remain with me forever, yet I can well see, that you would be happier to be with her and your little brother. Stay here at least a year, and then I will find means to send you to her.”

“Oh! thank you,” cried the boy; “but my dear little lady, if you can send me home a year hence, you must be able to send me now; who knows but my mother may die of grief or of starvation long before that. Oh! if it is not asking too much, let me go at once.”

The fairy then looked very sad, and told the boy that after his return to earth and his mother she would never again be able to reveal herself to him in her own proper shape, or make herself known to him. The boy was sad to learn this, yet still he begged to go to his dear mother.

Then the fairy, though so sorry to part with him, told him that he should see his home that very night; and accordingly, when evening came, the fairy and himself were taken in the arms of a mermaid, and carried up through the sea, till they rose upon the surface, and he saw the stars and the blue sky above, and knew that they were the same stars and sky that shone over his mother’s cottage. Soon they reached the land, and the mermaid left them upon the shore; and the fairy, beckoning to a swan that was in sight, mounted with the boy on its back, as it stood by her side. She and the little boy rose high up in the air, and were borne swiftly over towns, cities, mountains, rivers and vallies. At last, as the shades of night were passing away, and morn began to break, the scenes became more familiar to him, till the fairy, pointing beneath them, showed him the woods, and the hills, amid which he knew was his own little home. At her signal, the swan gently descended, and the boy’s heart bounded lightly, as he felt his feet once more rest upon the firm ground, and looked around on a scene so familiar and so dear; but his gladness left him when the fairy said: “We must here part. Never again shall I be permitted to reveal myself to you; but nightly, though unseen by you, I shall visit this spot; when all goes well with you and your mother, and everything prospers to your wishes, think that the fairy has been here, and at work.”

Before the boy could speak to her, she gently kissed him, at bidding him adieu, mounted again on the back of the swan, high in the air, and waving farewell with her hand, as she was lost in the distant cloud, the boy saw her no more.

He stood gazing forgetfully after she had disappeared, and then remembering himself, hastened on to the cottage. The blue smoke was struggling up the chimney, and he knew that the morning fire was kindled. The old brindled cow stood before the door, and his mother, with the milk-pail in her hand, and her little child toddling beside her, came forth, without seeing him, and began to seat herself to milk; the little boy, however, espied him, and cried out, “Oh, brother! brother!” The mother started up, and seeing the well-known features of her son, burst into tears, as she clasped him to her heart. He was as one restored from the dead, for the wicked crew who had returned home from the ship, reported that he had fallen overboard and was drowned; but her joy was now full, when she found that he was never going to leave her again.

During the winter nights as they sat by the fireside, he used to tell her and his little brother all about the good fairy, and the wonders that he had seen; and when the harvest came, and they gathered in a full crop of corn and fruit, (their neighbors’ crops had all been blighted,) he used to say to his mother, “The fairy has surely been here.” And as everything worked to their advantage, and they were well provided for, they never forgot her or her promise to him.

III.

THE PRINCESS AND THE ROSE.