Where once the earth was brown and bare,
A Prince’s Palace, wondrous rare,
Now fronts the Fountain clear;
A monument to those whose skill,
Have made the bleak and barren hill
An Eden to appear!
And that fair Palace of the Prince,
The like of which, nor fore nor since
Has ever been achieved;
Was by such master craftsmen planned,
That nought, or in or out the land
Like it, has been conceived!
To it the rarest gifts were brought
From out the realms of purest thought;
And all the Beauty and the Art
That far too often stand apart—
Were into one great glory wrought
To grace the Fairy Isle!
Now the building of the Prince’s Palace was the greatest piece of work
performed in Fairy Land.
As you know, very many wonderful things were done with regard to the
making of the Lake and the construction of the Fairy City. But all
these suffer by comparison with what was accomplished in connection
with the Palace. It is built of the purest white Marble, Facing the
Fountain, on part of the flat top of the Hill, it stands amidst the
most spacious garden grounds, and can be seen from every part of the
City. It contains exactly twenty-four rooms: one for every hour of the
day. They are divided into three equal sets. In one of these sets the
whole of the work of the Palace is carried out. Another set is devoted
to pleasure and amusement; whilst above these are the rooms in which to
rest or sleep.
From the white marble steps leading from the balconied verandah at the
great front entrance to the Palace, a broad level pathway sweeps in a
half circle out to the circular path which surrounds the Fountain
gardens. Thus the Palace and the Fountain Gardens join each other. Like
all the other paths, it is covered with golden coloured gravel; and,
flanking it on either side, set in the loveliest of green grass lawns,
there run two delightful flower-beds; forever filled with golden
marigolds!
The high double doors which give entry to the Palace are made of
oxidised, or slightly darkened silver, and stained glass. They are set
in a splendid framework made of the same kind of silver; and this, and
the lower panels of the doors, are inlaid with delicate designs in
burnished gold. On the framework, the design takes the form of the
trailing Sarsaparilla; whilst the panels are decorated with exquisitely
executed bunches of flannel flowers surrounded with an oval border of
Eucalyptus leaves. The glass in the upper halves of the doors, richer
than any to be seen in old Cathedral windows, has had burned into it,
in their own natural colours, Wattle blossoms and Waratah blooms. The
Wattle blossoms occupy the centre panels, and the torch-like Waratahs
are placed at either side.
Through the doors one passes into a wide Hall, out of which rises a
branching stairway giving access to the rooms above. The Hall is paved
with gorgeous tiles and lined with “fiddle-back” blackwood. The Hall
seats are made of the same beautiful wood. On one side of the Hall,
framed in silver, there is a picture of a hive of bees; and on the
other side, also in a silver frame, there is a picture of an Ant-Hill;
both indicative of work or industry.
But perhaps, before going further, you would like to know how the
Fairies make the lovely tiles which pave the Hall. It is really rather
interesting, and serves to show how very clever they are. Well! This is
what they do!
When the wind blows the petals from the flowers—as it does every
day—the Fairies at night time go and collect them. They at once dip
them into a mixture made of an extract of black ants’ milk, clear
honey, and morning dew. How they make it has never been found out; but
it has a truly surprising effect in preserving both the shape and
colours of the petals. They then put them into moulds the size and
shape of the tiles they propose to make; press them very tightly
together; and lightly brushing the face of each tile so made with a
little more of the mixture in order to cover it with a kind of glaze,
set them up in the sunlight to dry. The drying finished, they put them
through some kind of electrical treatment to make them hard, and they
are then almost ready for use.
Before putting them in place however; by a secret process quite
impossible to discover; they make the actual outline of the flower
itself to appear through the glaze; and, more bewildering still, they
cause the perfume of whatever flower petals have been used, to come
back to them. They are thus enabled to faintly scent a room or hall
with whatever pleasant odour they like to choose; the result of which
is, that knowing the particular flower that one loves best, they can
pay him or her a most delicate compliment, by simply introducing the
perfumes of his or her favourite flower to the house or rooms he or she
is to occupy.
As it happens, the flowers used in the making of the Hall floor tiles
were wattle-blossoms. They were selected, partly because of the sunny
effect to be obtained from their golden colour; and partly because
Prince Waratah—who by this time had seen Princess Wattle Blossom and
fallen in love with her—had made up his mind that some day she should
be his wife. How he first came to visit the father of the lovely
Princess, and the manner of his going, are now a matter of tradition;
but at the time the journey took place it was looked upon as an almost
miraculous performance.
As you will remember, when the Prince first found the Magic Well, he
was on his way to visit the Wattle Fairies, who lived in that part of
Australia now called Victoria. But in consequence of his important and
probably far-reaching discovery, he gave up his search for a wife;
returned to his father, King Eucalyptus, and sought and obtained
permission to undertake the building of a new Fairy City round the
Magic Well.
When the City was finished, and the Palace well on the way, he began to
think that a Palace without a Princess would be a very poor thing
indeed, and more or less useless. Quite naturally therefore, his
thoughts reverted to the Wattle Fairies, of whom he had heard it said
that they were the most beautiful in all the World. The more he turned
the matter over in his mind, the more he desired to make the visit upon
which he had started so long ago.
But there were difficulties in the way. To take an escort of sufficient
strength to resist possible enemy attacks, meant delaying the erection
of the Palace for quite a considerable length of time. In addition, his
personal supervision would be lacking, and mistakes might occur.
Pondering over these and other matters, there one day flashed into his
mind a rather quaint idea. Without any loss of time he sent for the
Engineer Fairy; the one who had made the bamboo squares from which the
water was sprayed when the Desert Fairies tried to fill the great
Trench with sand. And this is what he said: “Hail! and greeting! O
clever Engineer!” And the Engineer replied, “Hail! O Prince! Forever at
your service!” “Engineer,” said the Prince, “I would that I could take
a voyage through the air; and being seized with an idea, I have a mind
to discuss it with thee. Listen then, O Engineer! and answer me in good
time! As thou wert able to fill the hollow bamboo stalks with water—to
the great undoing of our common enemy the Desert Fairies—canst thou not
fill some others with air, and, having done so, construct me a carriage
that might, like a bird, fly safely overhead?”
As you may well believe, so unexpected a question could not be given an
instant answer. It is doubtful indeed if the Prince himself expected
any other than he got. What the Engineer Fairy said in reply was:
“Permit, O Prince, thy servant time to think, and he will answer thee
anon!” “Granted, most worthy Engineer!” said the Prince; “not until
thou thyself do broach this matter again shall it be named betwixt us
twain.” And the Prince rose in sign of dismissal.
When the Engineer Fairy had time to think over the things the Prince
had said to him he was greatly pleased at having been called “most
worthy Engineer,” and he set about his novel task with the greatest
good-will.
Taking the hint given him by Prince Waratah, he got together a goodly
number of bamboo stalks, most of them no thicker than a lady’s little
finger. Carefully removing the inside pith, he first inserted a bark
cork into the open end, and then covered it with a seal. The seals he
used were made of hard brown gum-nuts; and in order that the bamboo
tubes should be perfectly air-tight, he dipped their ends into hot
melted beeswax before screwing on the cap-nuts. The effect was just the
same as when hot paraffin wax is poured on top of a jar of newly made
jam—nothing could either get out or in. Having in this way effectually
sealed one end, he then, by means of a little electrical bellows,
proceeded to fill the tubes with air, so full that they were almost
ready to burst. But before that could happen, he deftly slipped a bark
cork into position, swiftly dipped the unsealed end into the hot melted
beeswax, and without losing an instant of time, rapidly screwed on the
cap-nut, thus sealing that end as closely as the other.
As soon as a sufficient number of various lengths and sizes had been
filled with air, they were put together in the shape of a chair, with a
box beneath the seat. The chair was then upholstered, or covered with
finely woven rushes over a padding of moss; thus making it a very
comfortable one in which to sit.
To make it easy to move, four little wheels were attached; and to
protect the occupant from the rain or sun a hood could be raised or
lowered by simply moving a lever at the left side. This hood, as well
as a rug to cover the knees, was made of spider-webs as soft as a
baby’s hair. The late Queen Victoria had presented to her by the
Natives of India an exceedingly fine shawl made of the same kind of
material.
But the most curious thing about the chair was its two wings, one at
either side. They were as large as the wings of an eagle, and of the
same shape, and they were entirely covered with the soft green feathers
of rosella parrots. As was seen later on, they could be folded back
against the chair, or set to any angle desired, according to the way in
which their controlling mechanism was turned. To the front of the chair
four rings were affixed, but for what purpose was not made clear until
they were about to be used.
What was then disclosed was this: The chair was in reality a flying
carriage; the box underneath being intended to hold whatever the driver
might wish to take by way of food, clothes or other things. The four
rings in the front were to be used as couplings to which to attach an
astonishingly swift team of Blue Kingfishers, sixteen in number, who
were to pull the carriage through the air. The Birds’ harness was made
of light, but strong, honey coloured ropes, twisted out of strands of
silk taken from the spiders who spin that kind of thread. The spiders
originally came from Papua or New Guinea, and the threads they spin are
coarser than those which the silk-worms produce; but none the less very
useful for such a purpose as that to which they were being put.
Of course it took some time to learn all these details. As a matter of
fact, it was not until the Engineer Fairy gave his first demonstration
that they were all seen and understood.
What then took place needs but a few words to describe. The Prince,
being present, and everything in readiness, the Engineer sat himself in
the seat, lifted the silk reins, spoke to the team of Blue Kingfishers,
and off they set at a smart run—the flying carriage running on its
wheels behind them. Presently they all rose as one bird into the air,
and at the self-same moment the carriage also rose, and, with wings
outspread, flashed behind the flying Kingfishers as perfectly balanced
and as steady as a modern aeroplane.
When in a little time the Engineer Fairy returned, he carefully
explained to the Prince all that was required to be done, and very
respectfully suggested that he should try his hand.
Nothing loath, apparently, Prince Waratah took the driver’s seat, and
faithfully and implicitly obeying the instructions given him, managed
to make a very skilful flight indeed, all things considered. Later, by
much practice, he became so proficient that it was next to impossible
for him to come to harm.
It was then that he set out, alone, to visit the Wattle Fairies,
covering the distance in an extremely short space of time compared with
what would have been necessary had he ridden on horseback or walked.
Maybe you can imagine the consternation and excitement among them the
first time they descried him coming through the air. When first sighted
he was little more than a speck in the far distance; but all Fairies
have very keen eyesight, and watching intently, it was not very long
before they could discern the brilliant blue plumage of the
Kingfishers, the flashing of their honey-coloured harness as the
sunbeams touched it every now and then; and, above all, the Prince
himself in the yellow flying carriage with the great green wings
attached!
No wonder they felt alarmed. It was enough to strike terror into the
heart of anyone who had never seen such a strange and unusual sight
before; and had it not been for the wisdom and calmness of their King,
it is almost certain they would have fled helter-skelter from the
scene. But he, not knowing what else to think, boldly and confidently
asserted that the stranger flying towards them must be a messenger from
Heaven, and as Heaven was kind, there was really nothing to fear. “Of a
truth,” said he, “it is more than possible that some great blessing is
about to be bestowed upon us. Let us therefore await God’s messenger
calmly and fearlessly; and in due time we shall learn whatever is His
Will.”
It thus came about that, when the Prince made a landing, instead of
finding those he came to see in a state of panic, they were all drawn
up in perfect order, and nothing, save their eyes, gave the slightest
sign that anything out of the way was taking place.
As soon as the Prince stepped out of the carriage, however, the King
knew him; for the fame of his person and marvellous works had
penetrated to the remotest parts of Australia, and he would have been
recognised anywhere. Without the slightest hesitation, therefore, the
King stepped forward, offered his hand to his distinguished visitor,
and in the kindliest manner bade him welcome!
Now it so happens that there are a very great number and variety of
Wattle Fairies, and they are to be found in practically all parts of
Australia. But by general consent, King Acacia and his wife, Queen
Cootamundra, are recognised as being at the head of all the tribes.
They are an extraordinarily handsome couple; and all their children are
very lovely indeed, especially their eldest daughter, Princess Wattle
Blossom! As soon as Prince Waratah saw her he vowed to himself that
never in all his life had he seen anyone so gloriously beautiful and
charming; for the fact is, that not only is she delightfully sweet to
gaze upon, but her manners are so perfect as to make her at once the
most kindly and the most gracious Princess in the whole of Fairy Land.
Her only fault, if such it can be called, is a tendency to droop her
head a little; but this is wholly due to a certain natural shyness, and
entirely disappears whenever she speaks or moves. It would have been
strange indeed if the Prince had not instantly fallen in love with
her—as he did—and had not resolved to some day make her his wedded
wife. Nevertheless he paid her many, many visits before the courtship
ended, and the marriage actually took place.
But to return to the Palace, about which you were being informed, when
the Prince’s desire for a wife somehow came into the story.
Apart from the Entrance Hall, which has already been described, there
are several rooms that call for more than passing mention. For
instance, there is the Laughter Room! That may seem a strange name for
a room, but the Prince has very decided opinions on certain matters,
and one of his fixed ideas is that, next to Sunshine, Laughter is the
finest thing in the World. He calls it “spiritual Sunshine,” because,
he says, whenever folks laugh, worry and trouble disappear just as
quickly as clouds before the sun itself. And so he urges that
“everybody, every day, should take a little time for play, to laugh and
drive dull care away!” He also says that everybody should have a
laughter room in the house; by which he means, of course, that everyone
should be careful not to so engage themselves with serious matters,
that in their whole make-up there is no room for laughter. People like
that, he thinks, do not enjoy life properly; and in order that he and
those associated with him might laugh at times, he specially arranged
for a Laughter Room.
Already, perhaps, you are wondering what sort of things that room
contains? Well, not for long does it remain the same! Changes are
constantly taking place, for one cannot continually laugh at the same
old joke. But to give you an idea of the kind of thing the Prince
thinks funny, here are several that have appeared in the room at one
time or another.
Number One: A baby bear, up in a gum tree, has just started to nibble
at a particularly tempting leaf when over the edge of it peeps a Daddy
Long Legs Spider, who says, “Excuse me! But I know something that you
don’t know!” “What’s that?” says the Bear, but without letting go.
“Why!” replies Daddy Long Legs, “You’re biting my foot!” “Sorry!” says
the Bear, letting go; “I hope I haven’t sprained your ankle,” and he
laughs till the tears run down his face.
Number Two: A fat little Fairy boy, having fallen into the dust, picks
himself up and stands crying great big teardrops, that, as they run
down his chest, look like the snakes that children make with treacle on
nice white slices of bread. Sitting on a fence, watching what is going
on, are two Kookaburras, resting a little after having killed a big
brown snake. When they see the funny little “Wrigglies,” running down
the Fairy boy’s chest, they burst into such fits of laughter, that they
each, so to speak, have to hold their sides, with the result that they
both fall off the fence head over heels into the dusty road; and then
the boy laughs till he has to sit down!
Number Three: Placed between the forked branches of a tree sits a
bird’s nest. In it are three little bare-headed baby birds, eyeing in
puzzled astonishment a big fat grub that has fallen on the edge of the
nest from somewhere overhead, and is doubling away as fast as ever he
can, saying as he goes: “Good-bye, Dearies! I’m so glad I saw you! But
don’t wait for me for dinner! I’ve simply got to go home at once! And,
by the way, don’t tell mother you saw me! It would make her feel sorry
to think she missed me!”
Number Four: An old Mother Crow—all of whose children were as black as
coal—was very jealous of the beauty of the Lyre Bird. Hearing one day
that the Stork was bringing a nice new Baby to her hated rival, she
placed around her neck a Lyre Bird’s tail that she had stolen years
before, and watched and waited for the Stork to pass, hoping against
hope that he would give her the baby Lyre-bird for herself. But when
the Stork came along he saw through the poor make-believe, and though
he felt a little sorry for the Crow, he instantly resolved to punish
her for stealing the Lyre Bird’s tail, as well as for trying to deceive
him! So instead of passing by, he stopped and said, “Hello, Crow! Where
did you get the Feather Stole?” And the silly Crow excitedly answered,
“Stole it! No, no! I don’t mean that! It’s not a stole at all; it’s a
Ruff! But you shouldn’t call me a ‘Crow’! I’m a Lyre Bird, and I’m
waiting for the nice new baby you’ve got in your basket.’” “... Oh!
ho!” retorted the Stork, “you’re a Lyre Bird all right; but,” he added,
“I can’t give you the Lyre Bird baby I’ve got in the basket, because
it’s promised to somebody else. But,” said he, observing her
disappointment, and with a humorous glint in his eye, “if you hatch out
the egg I’ll give you, you may get a surprise!”
Naturally enough, the Old Mother Crow, finding herself unable to
deceive the Stork, and fairly burning with curiosity to find out what
the surprise might be, took the egg and faithfully promised to sit on
it until it was hatched out. And she kept her word, too, sitting on it
night and day, with the ruff round her neck in case she might get a
young Lyre Bird.
After a number of days she suddenly felt something move, and jumping
off her nest in a state of great excitement, looked to see what she had
got. To her intense mortification and disgust, she saw nothing in the
nest but an ugly young Iguana! She was so annoyed at the trick that had
been played upon her, that the tears sprang to her eyes, and she was
just about to give vent to her outraged feelings in an angry squawk,
when a number of yellow crested Cockatoos, sitting on a tree not far
from her nest, seeing what had happened, laughed so loudly and
derisively, that the Crow flew from the spot and was never seen again!
The next of the Palace rooms to call for attention is known as the
Music Room. In it can be seen every instrument of Fairy music that has
ever been invented. And very odd some of them are, too; though they are
all capable of giving forth the most tuneful sounds imaginable. Among
the many instruments are some so perfectly made that they can imitate
Canaries, Larks and Nightingales with an accuracy that is truly fine.
By simply touching a tiny spring the mechanism is released, and
instantly one may hear a flood of melody that would cause a Lark, for
instance, to believe that one of his fellows was singing near! But the
instrument which excites the greatest wonder of them all is called a
Melodophone! It is the outcome of so much patience and skill that by a
little adjustment it can be made to produce any kind of music—vocal or
instrumental—from a single voice singing the simplest melody, up to the
grandest orchestral masterpieces. It really is wonderful!
The Prince is very proud of his music room, and takes an immense
delight in demonstrating what his collection of musical instruments can
do. Further, he everywhere strongly maintains that music is one of the
finest aids to happiness. Longfellow, the American poet, must have had
much the same thought in his mind when he wrote that priceless little
poem, entitled “The Singers,” for he makes “The Great Master” say of
“The Singers”:—
“I gave a various gift to each,
To charm, to strengthen, and to teach,
These are the three great cords of might,
And he whose ear is tuned aright,
Will hear no discord in the three,
But the most perfect harmony!”
In like manner, you will remember how the Prince, in connection with
the long, long march to the Magic Well, constantly encouraged his
followers to sing the Marching Song he had written for them. And how it
cheered and strengthened them. Even when they were almost ready to drop
with fatigue, a little singing always seemed to take away the tired
feeling and put them in good humour again.
Applying the same idea to matters of greater importance, he says that
Music stirs folks to think fine thoughts, prevents them from thinking
bad ones, and helps to make them happy. No happy person can possibly be
wicked! It is the unhappy who say and do the vile things! Knowing this
to be the case, he has very wisely ordered that at least two Bands
shall play for his people every day—one in the Fountain Gardens and one
on the Lake.
In addition, seeing that all Fairies are very fond of dancing, and that
they always dance in circles, he has also provided for them a couple of
Fairy Rings, where they may indulge in their favourite pastime as much
and as often as they please.
Lastly, there are five story-tellers, who, although they once had very
nice names—and you may be told them later on—were long, long ago called
“Touch,” “Taste,” “Sight,” “Smell” and “Hearing,” and every day they
have such interesting tales to tell that no one who cares to hearken
need ever be dull or depressed. So now you know why it is that all the
Prince’s people are so entirely happy and contented.
Of the other rooms of the Palace not yet mentioned there is only time
to describe one more on this occasion. It is sometimes called “The Hall
of the Captive Sunbeams”; but in reality, it is the Reception Room—that
is to say, it is the Room where guests or visitors are received prior
to being entertained at dinner, or at a musical evening, or at whatever
other form of entertainment is to be given them. The reason for its
being popularly named “The Hall of the Captive Sunbeams” is due to the
fact that certain portions of the Walls appear to radiate sunlight.
This peculiar and striking effect has been brought out by the use of
tiles, set like pictures in frames of brightly burnished silver. In the
tiles themselves captured sunbeams shimmer and dance perpetually.
How this was done is difficult to say; but the story goes that when
making the tiles, the Fairies set them where the Sun’s rays gently
touched them every day; and, just as the sun was declining, they each
day swiftly brushed the fronts of the tiles with a kind of liquid glaze
that kept the light beneath it. When, in this way, several thicknesses
of light were captured, so to speak, the tiles were burned in specially
prepared kilns, and to the very great joy of the Fairy Craftsmen it was
found, when finished, that one sunbeam seemed to be for ever chasing
another over and over the face of the tiles! There is but one other
notable feature about the “Hall of the Captive Sunbeams”—it is that the
more the place is filled with gaiety and laughter the more merrily do
the sunbeams seem to pour forth a running, rippling tide of light, to
enhance and stimulate the general jollity!
And now you have some faint conception of the beauty and the glory of
the Prince’s Palace, some little idea of its furnishing for use and
entertainment, and, above all, some grasp of the outstanding features
which make it not only the most noticeable structure in the Fairy City,
but of such unequalled originality and excellence as to be without a
rival anywhere.
There it stands, a perfectly modelled two-storied white marble building
surmounted by a roof of reddish sunset gold. On its front is the nobly
pillared verandah and balcony; and setting it off, like a splendid
frame to a valuable painting, are the widespread and delightful garden
grounds which entirely surround it.
Seeing it thus, as you now see it in your mind’s eye, on the evening of
a lovely Autumn day very shortly after it was finished, Prince Waratah
declared it perfect, save and except in one particular: it lacked a
worthy mistress. That, however, was an omission which could be
remedied; and as he had already made up his mind who was to be asked to
fill the position, he there and then began to consider the many things
that must be done before the happy event. So commenced the long series
of careful preparations which were to end in the most unique and
entrancing experience of his life—his marriage to the Princess Wattle
Blossom!
Of that marriage, and of all that took place in connection with it, you
shall be fully informed when time and circumstances permit. Meanwhile,
please remember, that in the Prince’s Palace of twenty-four rooms—one
for each hour of the day—some are for work, some are for pleasure, and
some are for sleep! With you it is just the same! There is a time for
work, a time for pleasure, and a time for sleep—and it is sleep-time
now! And so—good-night! Good-night!! Good-night!!!