some concern, and no little indignation. Her voice was very sweet and
pleasant; the picture she drew of the forest life of an elf was by no
means disagreeable, and as he gathered from her words that Evelyn had
already tasted of its delights, he was apprehensive of the effect which
this temptation still to share it might possibly have. He felt,
moreover, that as he had honestly fulfilled his part of the bargain, it
would be palpably unfair if he got nothing by it, except the knowledge
that his sister was a fairy, which would be but a very small
consolation to the people at home. So he thought he had better strike
in and tell his opinion at once, which he did in the following way:--
"I say!" he cried, "this is not fair. I was to come here to-night and
have my second boon--and I have said what it is. It will be no end of a
shame if you don't give me back my sister. In fact, you promised it
yesterday; and no fellow can stand being made to hold his tongue and
eat nothing but bread and water for the best part of a day and a half,
and then be sold after all. Come! I say! this won't do at all, you
know!"
The fairy listened to him with great politeness, and at once replied to
his remarks,--
"I bade thee come by light of moon
If thou would'st crave a second boon.
I bade thee come: and thou art here,
A faithful brother, void of fear;
And thou hast kept conditions two,
Such as had been observed by few.
Yet--ere you blame my words, good youth,
Be moderate, and hear the truth.
When maids or youths o'er fairy lore
Attentively are wont to pore,
Their hearts 'twould mightily surprise
To see how oft our elfin eyes
See, and rejoice to see, them read
Of many a magic Fairy deed.
And when such youth or maiden list
To say that Fairies do exist,
We love them passing well, forsooth,
Because that they believe the truth.
So, when beneath our woodland shade
There wanders tender youth or maid,
On certain spot--at certain hours--
Our might avails to make them ours.
And when, resisting not herself,
A Maiden once becomes an elf,
Dares from her mortal form t' escape,
And roam the world in Elfin shape,
Unless it be by her free will,
She must remain an Elfin still.
'Tis true: the words of power have might
To force us into mortal sight,
And, tho' in elfin garment drest,
A mortal maid must stand confest
To eyes of him who once has known
And said these words--to him alone.
Thy sister, then, thine eyes have seen,
But I, thy sister's Fairy queen,
Have right to counsel and persuade
Her--who is half a woodland maid--
And should she wish it, she must stay
Beneath my loving Fairy sway.
If so--kind youth, oh! ne'er repine,
Or envy this success of mine;
_Her_ fate for ever light and free
From mortal grief, will happy be,
For mortal sin and human woe,
Thenceforward she shall never know!"
As the fairy queen spoke these words, many thoughts passed rapidly
through the mind of the boy. He saw at once that the victory was not
yet so entirely won as he had supposed, and that people could not
change to and fro between mortal and fairy form as quickly as they
pleased. Of course he had not known his sister's fate until the fairy
queen uttered these rhymes, and even now he was left somewhat in the
dark. Besides, as you will recollect, the excellent elfin had not told
him the exact truth after all, because she led him distinctly to infer
that Evelyn had become one of the elves by her own consent and free
will, whereas we know perfectly well that she had no intention of
becoming anything of the kind, and that as to "resisting not herself,"
she had no idea that resistance would do any good, and if she had
thought so, would not have known in what way to resist, when the fern
leaf was waved over her head, and she began to be sensible of the magic
charm which came over her.
It is quite true that she had taken kindly to the life of an elf, but
it was certainly hardly fair to let her brother suppose she had become
one by choice. This, however, was not a point upon which he was at all
troubled. For one instant he doubted whether, if she were really so
happy, it would be doing her a real kindness to take her away from the
fairies. But it was only for an instant. He felt sure that she must be
under some charm which prevented her declaring her own sentiments, and
therefore he did not at once put the question to her.
But he remembered to have read in various books concerning elves and
fairies, that though they are a very interesting part of creation, they
are in some respects inferior to mankind, and that they are a kind of
being existing entirely and for ever in their present condition, with
no soul and with no such future as that for which Christian men and
women hope. Therefore, according to this view, his sister's condition
would be materially changed for the worse if she remained an elf, and
it was his duty, if possible, to prevent it. Moreover, his father and
mother had some claim to be considered; and he could not help thinking
that if Evelyn was a free agent and could say what she thought, felt,
and wished, she would not only promptly recognise that claim, but would
long to rejoin the parents of whom she was so devotedly fond. He
thought, perhaps, also of the mutual affection which had so long
existed between his sister and himself; but I will do him the justice
to say that I do not think he would have wished her back if he had been
satisfied that it would be best for her own happiness that she should
stay where she was.
All these thoughts flashed through Philip's mind during the fairy's
speech, and by the time it was ended he had quite made up his mind what
to do. He looked firmly--though not unkindly--at the little lady, and
then, turning to his sister, he said in a loud, clear, steady voice,--
"Evelyn, I wish you to come to me and we will go home together."
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, a long, low wailing sound
arose on all sides of him, as if the little beings of the glade were
bemoaning an affliction which they saw preparing for them and had no
power to prevent. It hung in the air for a few seconds, and then died
away in mournful cadence among the trees.
Meanwhile the effect of Philip's words upon his sister were immediate
and wonderful. She threw back her head, rubbed her eyes again, looked
first to the right and then to the left, and then stepped straight
forward for a couple of yards, and stopped, just as if somebody was
trying to hold her back. I suppose that she was too big to be held back
by the little elves, since she had resumed her old mortal form at the
first summons of her brother; but I also suppose from this circumstance
that they tried to keep her, and she always said afterwards, that soft
musical voices were in her ears, telling her of the joys of fairy-land
and the happiness of the little elves, and begging her not to leave
their merry party who had loved her so well.
Philip, observing her apparent hesitation, deemed it quite necessary to
take forthwith another and a more decided step. Elevating his voice a
little, and speaking in a very firm tone, he said:
"Come along, Evelyn dear, pray do not dawdle any longer. I wish you
would come directly. By jingo, we shall hardly be in time for tea!"
The words were scarcely spoken, when the same mournful sound arose,
even more piteous than before, and rang through the evening stillness
with a melancholy cadence which might have melted the hardest heart, so
much did it convey of real sorrow. But at the same moment all attempts
to retain Evelyn ceased--her natural look, colour, and manner seemed
suddenly to have returned, and she bounded into the magic circle, and
ran into her brother's arms.
"Oh, Philip dear!" she cried. "Where _have_ you been? I haven't seen
you for _such_ a time! How nice it is to have you at home again!"
The brother returned her affectionate caresses, and reminding her of
the lateness of the hour, said that they must return home at once. He
purposely forebore to say anything of what had recently occurred, not
knowing what the consequences might be, either to his sister or
himself, and putting his arm tenderly round her waist, began to leave
the glade, calling Pincher to follow him. They had not moved many yards
forward, however, before low strains of sweet music were heard behind
them, and turning round, they saw the form of the fairy queen, who was
gazing after them with a look of mingled tenderness and regret. She
gracefully waved her hand to them as they retreated, and in her own
sweet voice thus addressed them:
"Farewell! ye mortal children twain,
Perchance we ne'er may meet again;
Yet, should we ever chance to meet,
My elves the twain will kindly greet.
And ye, in prose or minstrel lays,
When ye shall read of woodland fays,
Have friendly feeling for the elves
Who love you as they love themselves.
No more amid our glade to roam--
The brother leads his sister home.
From Fairy-land the twain depart,
To gladden soon a mother's heart,
And make a saddened home, to-night,
Once more enraptured with delight.
True brother! thou hast brought thine aid
To rob us of our captured maid;
Yet wast thou right, and for the same
'Tis not for fairy lips to blame.
And thou, sweet Eve, who thus has left
Thy elf companions all bereft,
Since thou with us no more wilt dwell,
We wish thee, lovingly, farewell."
Then the fairy stepped lightly and gracefully back, still waving her
hand; the music grew fainter and fainter, and ere long both the sound
and the fairy form melted away from the sight and hearing of the
brother and sister, though the last lingering word, Farewell, once and
again repeated, still seemed to fall softly on their ears as they left
the glade.
They hastened home as fast as they could, and you may imagine the
excitement with which their arrival was greeted. Evelyn and her mother
devoured each other with kisses, and the father had such share of them
as was left for him. Philip was at once restored to favour, and not
only was his former silence forgiven, but every amends was made to him,
in the way of diet, for his fasting upon the previous day.
Mrs. Trimmer was so rejoiced at the happy conclusion of the adventure,
that she did not scold Evelyn for a month, in consequence of which her
progress in French and German was visibly slower than for some time
past.
Everybody in the house was glad to get the child back, and the only
provoking part of it was that, even after her extraordinary adventures,
disbelief in fairies still existed even in that well-informed
household. One gave one explanation of Evelyn's absence, and one
another; one laid it to the gipsies, another said she had run away and
hid in a hollow tree, but nobody seemed to be entirely satisfied with
the plain, unvarnished truth as I have told it to you.
But so it is in this wicked world. Invent a perfectly untrue story, but
make it seem a little probable, and everybody will believe you, and not
throw the slightest doubt upon your veracity. On the other hand, let an
extraordinary thing really happen, and if it falls to your lot to tell
it, you are generally considered a "story-teller" in the worst sense of
the word.
This makes me so cross sometimes, that I think I will give up writing
about fairies altogether, and only write about grave and serious
subjects. But if I do that, I am afraid that nobody except members of
parliament and diplomatists, politicians and teetotalers, and all those
silly sort of people, will read what I write, and so I think I will go
on for a little while longer in my old style.
_I_ know that elves and fairies exist, and if all the rest of the world
believes differently, it does not cause me the slightest inconvenience;
_they_ can go their way, and I can go mine; and if they don't see any
fairies, it is probably their own fault, as it is, I am sure, their own
loss.
I have no more to tell you of Philip and Evelyn now, except that they
both grew up and prospered, and that Evelyn often tells _her_ little
girls the story of her adventure with the fairies; and if anyone who
reads this story would like to know more particulars, she is so
good-natured that I am quite sure she will tell them all about it if
they will only take the trouble to ask her when she does not happen to
be particularly engaged.
CAT AND DOG.
To "live like cat and dog" has long been proverbial as a description of
a state of life in which quarrels and bickerings are of frequent
occurrence. No one, however, as far as I am aware, has ever followed to
its sources the proverb which is so familiar to us all; nor has anyone
attempted to explain the reason of the antagonistic spirit which
undoubtedly prevails between these domestic animals. Its prevalence is
certain, its consequences not seldom unfortunate, and many a once happy
household has been rendered miserable by its existence.
Animated by a sincere desire to acquire information, which might be at
once interesting to myself, and instructive as well as beneficial to my
fellow creatures, I have spared no pains to discover the truth upon
this all-important subject; and if I can succeed in placing that truth
clearly and dispassionately before the world, I shall feel--and I think
I may cherish the feeling without exposing myself to the charge of
presumption,--that I have not lived in vain.
Whatever rumours may, in a less enlightened age, have prevailed upon
the subject, I believe that there is no doubt as to the origin of the
unfortunate difference which first caused hostility to become deeply
rooted in the breasts of the canine and feline races. Some have
supposed it to have sprung from certain acts of favouritism displayed
by the human race towards one or other of the two species of animals;
others have come to the conclusion that in-bred and natural wickedness
gave rise to the evil, whilst others again have started different, but
equally unsound theories.
The true reason--the real beginning--the cause and foundation of the
whole thing, is to be found in the words of the old song, so familiar
to nursery people:
"Hey diddle, diddle; the cat and the fiddle;
The cow jumped over the moon:
The little dog laughed to see such sport,
And the dish ran away with the spoon."
The author of this ballad is unknown, but it has always been vastly
popular with the race of cats, who see in it at once a tribute to the
musical genius of their people, as being identified with the violin
(vulgarly herein called fiddle) and a recognition of their supremacy
and superiority over other animals, inasmuch as "the cat" is mentioned
first, before either cow or dog, fiddle or moon, and is evidently
pointed out as the chief personage celebrated by the rhyme.
On the other hand, dogs have never liked the verse. They directly and
positively object to the precedence given to the cat; they dispute
altogether the statement about the cow and the moon, as being
improbable, if not palpably false; and they further say that, if the
laughter of the little dog is intended to refer to this occurrence, it
is a reflection upon the gravity and decorum of the dog race, whilst,
if it is to be referred to the last line of the verse, it displays
their representative as treating with unworthy levity that which, as
far as the dish is concerned, was either an unlawful elopement or a
pitiful theft.
At one time, when there was still a hope that the enmity of the two
races might be appeased, and a better state of things brought about, a
joint committee of dogs and cats sat upon the question, in order to
submit a report to the great council of animals, which might form the
basis of an amicable settlement. A lengthy and acrimonious discussion
ensued. The cats claimed precedence, and advanced many arguments to
prove their superiority over their opponents. They boldly purred out
their declaration to the effect that nature, custom, and all the
evidence at command was clearly in their favour. They cited the
opinions of mankind, as given in many books, speeches, wise proverbs,
and witty sayings. They called to mind how that, in the case of heavy
rain, men always remarked that "it rained cats and dogs;" placing, as
they averred, the superior animal of the two first, when it was
necessary to mention both, and the inferior one last. Moreover, many
other things in the history of mankind denoted the prevalence and
undoubted predominance of the same opinion. One of their favourite
names for their daughters was Kate--spelt commonly with a C when given
in full, Catherine--and evidently a name adopted from that of cat, and
affording another implied recognition of the general superiority of the
feline race.
Then, said they, look at the way in which dogs are habitually spoken of
with contempt, and their name used as a reproach. If one man call
another a "dog," it is held to be an insult. Tell anyone that such and
such a person has a "hang-dog" look about him, and it is known you
intend to convey the idea of his being a rascal only fit to be strung
up at once. If a man is tiresome in argument, his companions term him
"dogmatic;" if he is of an obstinate temper and sullen disposition, he
is frequently called dog-ged; whilst on crossing the channel a person
who suffers from the malady of the sea is said to be "as sick as a
dog;" and when mankind desire to express the failure in life, the ruin,
the abject and miserable condition of one of their own race, there is
no more common or proverbial expression than that he has "gone to the
dogs."
All these, and many other instances, they quoted, as bearing upon the
great question of the superiority of cats to dogs, and in fact,
establishing the same beyond any reasonable doubt.
The dogs, having listened to these observations and arguments with an
attention which was only equalled by their indignation, advanced their
counter-arguments with great force, and evinced much learning and
erudition. They took a preliminary objection to the evidence founded
upon the manners and habits of human beings; avowing that even if they
admitted every instance which had been adduced, they might appeal to
the general practice of man, and the greater trust and reliance which
he habitually placed in the dog, as utterly negativing the supposition
that he had ever intended to imply the superiority of the feline tribe
by any casual proverb or familiar saying. When was a cat employed to
tend sheep? What keeper would trust a cat to do the office of a
retriever, and to watch the young birds? To what cat was ever committed
the custody of a house, or when was a kennel provided for a cat, to
serve the purpose for which only a mastiff, or some similar specimen of
the noble breed of dogs, was fit? All this forbad the supposition that
men preferred cats before dogs, or esteemed them at all equally, either
as useful or ornamental animals. But if they considered the arguments
brought forward by the cats, one by one, with logical acuteness, they
would not find a single argument which was not susceptible of an
entirely different construction from that put upon it by the cat
orators.
For instance, the expression that "it rained cats and dogs" clearly
signified (if taken for more than a colloquial expression to convey the
meaning that it rained hard) that the heavens from which the rain came
desired to get rid of the inferior animals first, and that it was only
when the cats had been got rid of that a possible superfluity of dogs
was taken into consideration. The name Kate (which, by the way, was the
abbreviation of Katharine, and had really nothing to do with the name
Catherine) was not derived from anything to do with cats or kittens
either; and it was much the same as if the dogs on their part were to
claim affinity with the ancient Doges of Venice, or to pretend to
unwonted holiness because most of the good books of the early church
were written or translated by the monks into Dog Latin.
Again, as to one man insulting another by calling him a dog, that was
not exactly the case. Dogs did not speak with human tongues, and
therefore, when a man was called a "dumb dog," it was only implied that
he was as dumb as a dog as far as the human tongue was concerned; dogs,
moreover, did not pretend to universal goodness--there were good dogs
and bad dogs, mad dogs and sad dogs. When men wished to bestow praise
upon one of themselves, they constantly called him a "jolly dog;" and
if they sometimes called one of their own kind a "cur," they alluded to
an inferior species of dog, and in fact acknowledged the superiority of
the canine race by the very fact that they selected it as the race with
which alone they could fairly compare one of themselves.
The "hang-dog" argument also told directly against, instead of for, the
cats. What did it mean? Why, that any man who was a villain and a
rascal looked as if he would actually be ready to hang a dog; and such
a crime would, in fact, constitute him both rascal and villain at once.
What better proof could be afforded of the high estimation in which
dogs were held by men?
The dogs further said that the cats had attributed a bad meaning to
the word "dog-matic," but that it was also susceptible of a good
interpretation, being derived from a Greek word, dogma, a settled
opinion, and signifying one who, knowing the truth, and having
confidence in the opinion at which he had duly arrived, had the courage
of his convictions and stuck to them gallantly, which was certainly no
reproach either to dog or man. The word "dogged" also might of course
be taken to mean "sullen" or "sulky," but its primary signification was
rather "pertinacious;" and it really meant that steadiness with which
an honest dog pursued his course through life, yielding neither to
bribes nor temptations, from whatever quarter they might chance to
come.
With regard to the expression, "sick as a dog," they stated that it was
scarcely more commonly used among men than the equivalent expression,
"sick as a cat;" and they forbore, out of delicacy, to advance
arguments upon so disagreeable a point. It bore but little upon the
question, and they might as well say that men hated cats, because they
were subjected to catalepsy; or that they evinced their dislike to the
feline portion of creation by calling a misfortune a "cat-astrophe," a
bad cough a "cat-arrh," and a disease in the eye, a "cataract." The
last allusion of the cats, namely, that to a man spoken of as having
"gone to the dogs," was the subject of a long and able argument on the
part of the latter; who principally contended that the real meaning of
the phrase, duly considered and wisely interpreted, was quite different
from that which their adversaries supposed; inasmuch as no man, being
ruined and miserable, would go to persons or beings who were held in
contempt or were in disgrace. What was really meant was, that, when a
man had really failed in everything, and, being penniless and wretched,
found neither support, sympathy, nor consolation from those of his own
species, he went where kindness, good faith, honesty, and charity were
ever to be found, and sought among the true-hearted and friendly race
of dogs that kindly welcome and reception which had been denied to him
by his own people. It was a tribute, indeed, paid to dog-nature by
mankind; and nothing of the sort had ever been said with regard to
cats, who were well-known to be much more likely to scratch, than to
comfort, the unfortunate.
The arguments so forcibly advanced by the dogs made very little
impression on the cats who were upon the joint committee. There was a
good deal of purring, setting up of backs, miawing, and I fear a little
spitting; but they listened with tolerable attention, and then replied
in the same style as before.
They mentioned a bad, useless fish--which was called the dog-fish, on
account, they said, of its bad qualities; the dog-days--so called
because hotter and more unbearable than any other days in the summer:
they drew attention to the fact that loose, bad rhyme was said to be
"doggerel," and that an inferior kind of flower was termed "dog-rose."
The dogs rejoined, with spirit, that men called a depository for dead
bodies a "cat-acomb," a disagreeable insect a "cat-apillar," and that
anyone who was made use of by another to obtain his own ends was
contemptuously designated a "cat's-paw."
A debate carried on in this spirit could clearly lead to no
satisfactory result, and the end of the matter was that the committee
separated without having been able to agree to any report. The
consequence naturally was, that each race continued to regard the other
with suspicion and aversion; and that the relations between the two
became, and seemed likely to remain, exceedingly unpleasant.