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VIOLET:
A FAIRY STORY.
BOSTON:
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY.
1856.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1855, by
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
STEREOTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.
PUBLISHERS' ADVERTISEMENT.
In the absence of any preface by the author, the publishers desire to
call special attention to this most exquisite little story. It breathes
such a love of Nature in all her forms, inculcates such excellent
principles, and is so full of beauty and simplicity, that it will
delight not only children, but all readers of unsophisticated tastes.
The author seems to teach the gentle creed which Coleridge has imbodied
in those familiar lines,--
"He prayeth well who loveth well
Both man, and bird, and beast."
VIOLET: A FAIRY STORY.
CHAPTER I.
VIOLET'S HOME.
Once there was a gardener who lived in an old hut of a house, with one
table inside, and some rough stools, and a large box that served for a
bed, all of which he had made himself.
There was one window; but when it stormed the rain beat in so that the
old lady, his wife, had to pin her shawl against it, and then the whole
house was dark as night.
Every body thought these people poor except themselves; but they had one
treasure which seemed to them better than a whole mountain of gold and
all the splendid houses and gay carriages in the world. This was their
little daughter Violet, whose presence in their home made it beautiful
and stately, and whose absence, they thought, would have made a palace
dull.
Violet was not as beautiful as some children. She was pale and slender,
and her soft, light hair did not curl in ringlets, but floated over her
shoulders like a golden veil. But O, she had such beautiful eyes! They
were large, and so bright and clear, and such a deep, deep blue!
Sometimes they made you think of a brook in the shady wood when gleams
of sunshine have found their way to it; sometimes they were like nothing
so much as the violets that grew beside the doorway of her own father's
hut.
The old man had, besides his daughter, a garden, which was dear to him;
and well it might be, for in summer it did one's eyes good to look at
the blossoms all tangled together, and sprinkled over with great drops
of pearly dew. Roses there were, and lilies, and fox-gloves, and
mignonette, and a great many other flowers that had long names, which
Violet could not remember. Then there were long, neatly-kept beds of
vegetables and sweet herbs, which Reuben--for that was the gardener's
name--carried to market.
Now, while Reuben was digging his vegetables, his wife and Violet would
gather the prettiest flowers and buds, and tie them into bouquets with
so much taste that soon the old gardener became famous for his flowers,
and many rich people sought him out, promising to buy all he would bring
to their houses.
Flowers only grow in summer time; and all the year round people must
eat, and drink, and wear clothes; and then Reuben had to pay rent for
his garden; so, notwithstanding their industry, Violet's friends were
poor.
But they were happier than a great many rich people, and certainly loved
Violet as well as though she had been a queen. They were so kind to her
that sometimes the little girl thought, if there were such beings as
fairies, they must look into her heart every day, find out her wishes,
and tell them to her good parents.
Between you and me, there _were_ two fairies--one named Love and the
other Contentment--that lived all the time in Reuben's hut; and though
Violet had never seen their faces, and did not even know their names,
they were always doing something for her. It was because these excellent
friends had touched her coarse garments that they looked fine and soft
as velvet to her eyes; it was because they never left the old black hut
that it looked so clean and sunny--cheerful as a palace.
You may wonder, if these fairies were so powerful, why they didn't have
a palace of their own; but you must remember directly they enter a place
it becomes a palace; and besides, Violet possessed a charm so powerful
that even the fairies could not fly away unless she gave them leave; and
yet--wasn't it queer?--she did not know this herself.