They set sail in a ship of which the sides were plated with

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THE OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY BOOK

BY

MRS. BURTON HARRISON

ILLUSTRATED BY

MISS ROSINA EMMET

LONDON

SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, AND RIVINGTON

CROWN BUILDINGS, 188 FLEET STREET

[_All rights reserved_]

Dedicated

TO

FAIRFAX, FRANK AND ARCHY

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION

THE PRINCESS EGLANTINE

DAME MARTHA'S STEP-DAUGHTER; OR, THE GRANDMOTHER OF THE GNOMES

THE ADVENTURES OF HA'PENNY; OR, THE DWARF, THE

WITCH, AND THE MAGIC SLIPPERS

SYBILLA, MYRTILLO, AND FURIOSO

ANNETTE; OR, THE MAGIC COFFEE-MILL

JULIET; OR, THE LITTLE WHITE MOUSE

THE FAIRIES AND THE FIDDLER

ETHELINDA; OR, THE ICE KING'S BRIDE

DEEP-SEA VIOLETS

THE WILD WOODSMAN

THE FROZEN HEARTH-FAIRY

ROSY'S STAY-AT-HOME PARTIES

BLONDINA; OR, THE TURKEY-QUEEN

TIMID AGNES

THE OGRESS AND THE COOK

MISS PEGGY AND THE FROG

THE LEPERHAUN: A LEGEND OF THE EMERALD ISLE

ROMANCES OF THE MIDDLE AGES.

THE TRIALS OF SIR ISUMBRAS

BISCLAVERET

ROSWAL AND LILIAN

ELIDUC AND GUILLIADUN

THE FALCON-KING

SIR EGLAMOUR AND CRYSTABELL

FAIRY DAYS.

Beside the old hall-fire--upon my nurse's knee,

Of happy fairy-days--what tales were told to me!

I thought the world was once--all peopled with princesses,

And my heart would beat to hear--their loves and their distresses;

And many a quiet night--in slumber sweet and deep,

The pretty fairy people--would visit me in sleep.

I saw them in my dreams--come flying east and west,

With wondrous fairy gifts--the new-born babe they bless'd;

One has brought a jewel--and one a crown of gold,

And one has brought a curse--but she is wrinkled and old.

The gentle queen turns pale--to hear those words of sin,

But the king he only laughs--and bids the dance begin.

The babe has grown to be--the fairest of the land,

And rides the forest green--a hawk upon her hand,

An ambling palfrey white--a golden robe and crown;

I've seen her in my dreams--riding up and down:

And heard the ogre laugh--as she fell into his snare,

At the little tender creature--who wept and tore her hair!

But ever when it seemed--her need was at the sorest,

A prince--in shining mail--comes prancing through the forest,

A waving ostrich-plume--a buckler burnished bright;

I've seen him in my dreams--good sooth! a gallant knight.

His lips are coral red--beneath a dark moustache;

See how he waves his hand--and how his blue eyes flash!

"Come forth, thou Paynim knight!"--he shouts in accents clear.

The giant and the maid--both tremble his voice to hear.

Saint Mary guard him well!--He draws his falchion keen,

The giant and the knight--are fighting on the green;

I see them in my dreams--his blade gives stroke on stroke,

The giant pants and reels--and tumbles like an oak!

With what a blushing grace--he falls upon his knee

And takes the lady's hand--and whispers, "You are free!"

Ah! happy childish tales--of knight and faerie!

I waken from my dreams--but there's ne'er a knight for me;

I waken from my dreams--and wish that I could be

A child by the old hall-fire--upon my nurse's knee!

W. M. THACKERAY.

[Illustration: The Faithful Comrades.]

[Illustration: Old-Fashioned Fairies.]

INTRODUCTION.

_To my Young Readers._

_Children Dear_:

Not long ago two little boys, who shall be nameless here, came to their

mother's side at that pleasant hour of the twenty-four called by the

English "blind-man's holiday," and by the French, "between dog and

wolf." The lamps had not been lighted, and the room was full of shadows;

but a strip of western sky, seen through the bay window, hung like a

pink veil behind which a few pale stars were beginning to show above

the dark line of hills. All that bright summer's day long, four little

busy feet had been in motion. Directly after breakfast they had raced

down the meadow-path, pursued by Colin Clout, their faithful Scotch

collie, between grass and daisies so tall that little could be seen of

the dog and his younger master, beyond a brown back and white-tipped

tail curveting around a scarlet fez that bobbed up and down like a buoy

upon the water. Soon the three companions had reappeared for a moment

under a low arch of fringy boughs at the entrance to the grove, and then

had descended a bank to the edge of a babbling brook, where, on the

grassy margin, the children played every day for hours, inventing a

hundred devices of boats and dams and waterfalls, whilst Colin lay at

ease among the ferns, and from time to time emitted a bark of pure good

fellowship. For them this shallow streamlet has a charm hardly to be

resisted, even for a summons to drive "over the hills and far away"

through the lovely country-side, or to assist in the delights of the

season when their pretty meadow grasses are laid low, tossed into

fragrant piles, and carted away by merry haying-folk--though sometimes

these water-elves pause to forage the neighboring woods for "hocky"

sticks and sling-shot crotches, to "shin up" the tall forest trees, or

pluck wild strawberries from the sunny slopes beyond their favorite

haunt.

On the especial evening of which I write, the faithful comrades had

returned, tired, and scratched by the briers of this work-a-day world,

from a tramp of some miles in search of live bait for a fishing

excursion projected with their father at Lily Pond upon the morrow. The

doomed little fishes had been put into a bath-tub full of water, where

they were expected to suppose themselves still in their native pool. The

boys had been washed and fed--an astonishing supper, even for those

cormorants!--and now had elected to seek rest and refreshment at the

maternal knee. Colin, observing that everybody else was satisfactorily

adjusted in affectionate attitudes, had retired under the fringe of a

table-cover close at hand, and lay where only his loving eyes and open

mouth could be seen, breathing in short quick pants, or, as the boys

called it, "ha-ha-ha-ing at the company."

"And now, mamma, until your tea is ready, we know what you must do,"

said the children, in a breath. "Tell us a story--a 'real, truly' fairy

tale, about a giant and a dwarf, lots and lots of fairies, a prince and

a beautiful princess with hair to her very feet, a champion with a magic

sword, a dragon-chariot, a witch dressed in snake-skin--and, if you can,

an ogre. Don't punish anybody but the witch and the ogre; and _please_

don't have any moral, only let everybody 'live in peace and die in a pot

of grease,' at the end of it."

"To be sure, we know most of mamma's stories by heart," said the sage

elder of nine. "If she could only make up some new ones that aren't in

any of our books! Or else, mamma, tell us something you heard a little

bit of, long, long ago, from your nurse, and then make up the rest. But

whatever one you tell, we'll be sure to like it anyhow."

The stories told, the mother fell to musing, and the result is the

little book here presented to the judgment of children other than her

own--a few new fairy tales, on the old, old pattern!

In every country of the habitable globe are found the same myths,

variously dressed and styled. Let the ethnologist frame what theory he

will upon this subject, my own private belief is that once upon a time a

good fairy who loved mankind put on the wings of a stormy petrel and

flew over many lands, carrying in her hand a sieve full of tiny seeds,

and shaking it upon those spots where there appeared to be most

children. The seeds, falling to earth after this fashion, sprang up and

bore many-colored fairy tales, to rejoice all hearts for evermore. Since

then, the fables you and I love have been told from father to son among

nations living remote from each other and isolated. The Hindoo toiling

under the tropic sun, and the Lapp in his smoky hut banked in snow; the

English cottar resting in his ivy-covered porch, and the Russian peasant

stretched at length upon the stove which forms his bed; the Persian

stroking his gray beard beneath the archways of Ispahan, and the

Norwegian carving bits of wood under his rafters of illuminated

pine--all know and repeat versions of our favorite tales. In France, in

Spain, in Germany--mother of myths--in Italy, where they drop red from

the wine-press of Boccaccio--are these stories to be heard. The North

American Indian weaves them with his beads and wampum; our southern

negro croons them over the corn-cake baking in the spider upon his cabin

hearth; the poetical Chinese envelops them in the language of flowers;

and the distant dweller by the Amazon embalms them in his legendary

lore. So much for the fairy with the sieve!

But great as is the enjoyment had in perusing the fairy tales of

different nations, to the child of Anglo-Saxon descent can come no such

pleasure so deep as that to be derived from the old romances of our

mother country. To me this delight was first revealed by a little fat

book that used to be found in our nurseries--the one containing

Cinderella, immortal maid--unprincipled Puss in Boots--and Jack, the

splendid champion!

Of late years, fairy tales seem to have suffered from their increase of

dignity at the hands of grave scholars, who have so dressed them in fine

language, and hedged them with innumerable notes and references, that

the child shuns the fruit for fear of thorns about it. For my own part,

I prefer the older specimens of ancient fairy literature known as

chap-books. These were odd little yellow pamphlets, sprinkled with

abundant capital letters throughout the text, and "Illustrated with many

diverting cutts!" They were carried around the country-side in England

by peddlers, who sold them (with such other catch-penny wares as

ribbons, lace, and trinkets) indifferently at castle gate or cottage

lattice; and if you wish to see the sort of fairies your

great-grandmothers believed in, look at the three pictures that

accompany this preface, copied from a famous chap-book.

There, quaintly depicted, first, appeared Jack in a funny full-bottomed

coat, diligently climbing a bean-stalk, where the ogre's castle was

perched atop like a bird's nest; lucky Ali-Baba, too; Bluebeard--mighty

and pitiless--with Fatima and sister Anne, their back hair down,

pleading to him on dislocated knees, their brothers, with drawn swords,

galloping to the rescue; and the husband in The Three Wishes, standing

agape before his fireside, while his wife danced a jig of rage in her

efforts to rid her nose of a pudding little smaller than a feather-bed!

There, also, was displayed that pushing suitor, the Yellow Dwarf, who

insisted on attaching to his lady-love's finger a ring made of a single

red hair, so fastened that she could not get it off. There was the

Desert Fairy, guarded by two lions which the wandering queen endeavored

to appease with "a cake made of millet, sugar-candy, and crocodile's

eggs." (How we children yearned to taste that cake!) And there were the

fascinating White Cat, seated side by side with her enamored prince in a

fine calash of blue embossed with gold, the Sleeping Beauty, the Babes

in the Wood--hapless cherubs--the Girl who dropped pearls and diamonds

when she spoke, dear Graciosa and ready Percinet, gallant

Riquet-with-the-Tuft, and Goody Two Shoes--the latter a little of a

prig, I fear--clever Hop o' my Thumb, Beauty and the Beast, Little Red

Riding-hood--the long procession of charmers to whom even now my heart

bows in salutation as I write their familiar names!

Chap-books of ancient date have been recently reproduced in England;

from one of them, I have taken the substance of a story I never chanced

to see elsewhere, and under the title of "Juliet; or, the Little White

Mouse" have given it to you in language of my own.

After the chap-books came other cheap fairy publications, notably those

of Mr. Newberry, a good old gentleman who, in the last century, sent out

numberless sixpenny booklets, many of them reaching America to give

pleasure to the infants of the colonies. Washington Irving goes so far

as to say that if George Washington had not read Newberry's

publications in his youth, especially "Whittington and his Cat," he

would not have been the first and greatest President of the United

States! The grave Benjamin Franklin, while a printer in Philadelphia,

emulated Newberry in publishing nursery tales, and no doubt devoured

them himself with relish.

Many a pen of the great in history or literature has found a theme in

these favorites of ours. Of Cinderella, the famous Canning, premier of

England, wrote in glowing rhyme:

"Six bobtailed mice transport her to the ball.

And liveried lizards wait upon her call."

And Thackeray has thrown around fairy lore the rays of his noble genius,

not only in the lines already here quoted, but in a Christmas story so

enchanting that, if you are unfortunate enough not already to have made

acquaintance with Valoroso and Gruffanuff, Bulbo and Angelica, I urge

you to try at once the magician's art and coax "The Rose and the Ring"

out of the pocket of your nearest relative. By the giant Thackeray, when

entangled in the meshes of Fairydom, one is reminded of Gulliver under

bonds to the Lilliputians, yet wearing his bonds so easily!

And now, I leave my new-old Fairy Book to you, my little critics. I am

sure you will accord a generous welcome to the pictures. What would our

benighted great-grandmothers have said to Miss Emmet's charming

illustrations?

C. C. H.

THE PRINCESS EGLANTINE.

A certain queen had twin children, a boy and a girl, both as beautiful

as the dawn of a summer morning. As the mother was one day hanging over

the double cradle, shaped like two silver lilies growing on one stem, an

old aunt of hers, who knew a good deal about magic, arrived from the

country to see the babies and to spend the day.

The old lady took the Princess Eglantine in her arms, and kissed her,

and joggled her, and clucked at her, after the fashion of all good

aunties.

"That's a girl to be proud of, my dear!" she said, handing the baby

back to her mamma. "And she looks as good as she is pretty, too."

"They are both _wonderful_ children, nurse says," replied the young

queen, modestly. "And the doctor thinks them the _finest pair_ he has

ever seen. Only the boy is _a little_ high-tempered. He kicks and snaps

at his attendants the whole time he is awake; so take care, aunty dear,

and don't disturb him for the world. We always let him sleep as long as

he will."

"Hoity-toity!" cried aunty, "as if I came out of the woods to be

frightened by an owl. _I_ know how to manage _all_ children!" and the

boy opening his eyes at that moment, she lifted him from his crib, and

laid him on her lap.

Sad to say, he behaved like an infant tiger. Never was there seen such a

tempestuous baby. He wriggled, and howled, and fought, and plunged,

until the poor mother and nurses turned red with mortification. But the

old aunty held on to him bravely, and examined him from top to toe.

Nothing could she find, till she came to the sole of the right foot, and

there was a tiny red mark like a burning torch. As soon as aunty saw

this she sighed, and whispered a word in the baby's ear, when he became

as quiet as any lamb.

Aunty sent away the nurses, and told the poor queen there was no doubt

about it; her boy was bewitched, and when he grew up he would try to

devour his sister. The only thing was to keep them apart, and this the

queen told her husband; and he sent for a wise man, who confirmed what

aunty had said. The wise man added that all would go well so long as the

princess was kept apart from her brother, and as the brother was the

heir of the kingdom, there was nothing left but to banish the

unfortunate princess. The king built for his daughter, in the remotest

corner of his kingdom, an ivory tower. Around the tower was a crystal

moat full of gold and silver fish. Around the moat were lovely

flower-beds, and around the flower-beds was a thick and thorny hedge. In

this tower there was a room lined with tufted blue satin, like the

inside of a bonbon box, and all the furniture was made of fine carved

ivory. Here the princess was shut up for life, under the care of an old

dame, Madame Veloutine by name, who once had kept a boarding-school for

duchesses, and was very respectable indeed. Poor Eglantine was gradually

forgotten at court, and her cannibal brother grew up without knowing he

had ever had a sister.

[Illustration: THE PRINCESS EGLANTINE.]

Like all other captive princesses, past, present, and to come, Eglantine

was beautiful and accomplished. She could speak in every language, work

in silk and crewels, paint china plaques, make mince-pies, sing like a

nightingale, and play anything on the piano at sight with her eyes shut!

Her skin was milk-white, with a rosy flush on the cheeks, while her

glorious golden hair never came out of crimp, but rippled from the roots

to her very feet.

One day a prince, cantering by upon his palfrey, looked up at the tower

window, and there saw this lovely creature, surrounded by a flock of

pretty white doves. Prince Charming gazed and gazed, and the longer he

stood there, the more enraptured he became. When he heard from the

country people that no one knew who or what was this mysterious beauty,

excepting that once a year, by night, a grand gentleman and lady visited

her, and looked at her while asleep, the ardent young prince made a vow

to solve the secret without delay. He engaged his old tutor to make love

to Eglantine's governess, and this plan succeeded so well that the tutor

was, ere long, invited to take a cup of tea at five o'clock, in the

ground floor apartment of the tower where Madame Veloutine kept house.

Madame Veloutine was very much fluttered by the attentions of the

tutor, a gloomy-looking individual with savage dark mustache and

deep-sunken eyes. The poor old thing, who had been reading novels

without any intermission for eighteen years, was very sentimental, and

the idea of a suitor coming to woo at some period of her existence was

never wholly absent from her thoughts. She dressed herself in one of the

Princess Eglantine's white robes, put a blue sash around her waist, and

covering her little red nose with rice powder, sat in a darkened corner

with a guitar upon her knees. The tutor flattered her, and soon she grew

confidential and told him the story of her charge. When the tutor took

his leave, Madame Veloutine sighed deeply, and pitied the poor man who

had fallen a victim to her charms. She did not see the fat purse of gold

the prince bestowed on him, upon learning the true state of the case

about the enchanting captive!

Prince Charming rode, day and night, till he reached the king's palace.

"Give me your daughter for my wife," he said. The king turned pale at

hearing that the secret was betrayed. "For pity's sake speak lower,

young man," said the anxious father. "Only suppose her brother should

hear of it." With that he told the whole story to Prince Charming, who

forthwith rode to ask a wise man what he should do to set the princess

free, with safety to herself.

"Ride as far as you will, and as fast as you will with her, you may not

escape the curse," said the wise man.

The prince went off heavy hearted, and visited a witch he knew. She was

knitting a stocking, which ravelled every night as fast as it grew by

day.

"I have been knitting this stocking for fifty years," said the witch,

taking a pinch of snuff out of the soup-tureenful that she always kept

beside her. "I could as soon make it whole in one night as keep away the

curse from her."

The prince groaned as he rode away. Across his path was a green bough,

half covered by a huge cobweb. In this a tiny being, no bigger than a

fly, was entangled, and was making desperate struggles to be free.

Travelling toward it, with tremendous strides, came an enormous red

spider, with white spots and great protruding eyes. The prince, not

without a shudder, for, like most of us, he hated the nasty things,

killed the spider with a blow, and set free the pretty captive, who

proved to be a fairy. She tidied her iridescent frock, and thanked him

very nicely.

"You have saved my life, dear prince," she said. "Pray let me do

something in return for it."

"Perhaps you can help me," said the prince, eagerly. "If you can't,

never mind," he added, politely, when he had finished telling her the

sad story of his doomed princess. "I don't expect much of a person of

your size, you know; but really it's the greatest _relief_ to talk about

the dear darling!"

"A person of my size!" said the little lady, with a shrill sniff. "I'd

have you to know, prince, that I'm the fairy Buz-fuz, the discoverer of

the celebrated invisibility powder. It is _never_ known to fail, is made

from a fern-seed that _I_ alone can pluck, and is _not_ for sale at

_any_ druggist's! As to lifting the spell from that poor young creature,

the princess, I can't undertake to do it, on any terms; but with the aid

of my powder, one pinch of which sprinkled on an object will make it

disappear from sight in a moment, I believe you can manage to keep clear

of the cannibal brother."

The prince thanked the fairy, took the powder, and galloped off,

light-hearted, to his Eglantine. She, poor thing, had thought of nothing

but the prince and his beauty, and his kind glances and smiles, since he

left her. She wearied of the society of poor old Veloutine, and sighed

for change. Veloutine was in despair. To comfort the princess she

promised to allow her a single meeting with the prince, should he ever

come that way again. "That I am sure he will!" said the princess. "If

you had only seen his eyes when he looked at me! They were so kind, so

true! Oh! Veloutine! he _will_ come back!"

So Eglantine settled down to her embroidery. This was a gown of white

damask with large white satin flowers outlined with real pearls. She had

been at work on it for several years, and a few stitches more would

finish it. She now wrought busily, until the last stitch was set, and

then, with trembling fingers, put it on. Around her neck and waist she

wrapped great chains of pearls, and left her long hair rippling to her

knees. When her toilet was complete she went to the window. It was the

sunset of a summer's day. Around her tower grew vines heavy with

deep-red roses; the shining surface of the moat beneath was streaked

with color from the western clouds. Along the path beyond the hedge rode

a horseman gayly clad in green and gold, who, smiling, doffed a cap with

a single long white plume, and bowed to his saddle-bow. Behind him came

a splendid cavalcade of courtiers and knights on horseback, surrounding

a golden coach in which sat the father and mother of Eglantine, who had

given consent to her marriage with the prince. The poor king and queen

were dreadfully frightened at the rashness of this proceeding. They had

sent the cannibal brother off on a hunting excursion in a distant part

of the country, and had come in fear and trembling, bringing with them

the most trustworthy of their people. They could not resist Prince

Charming, who, in addition to his other attractions, had just lost his

father, the old king, and was now the sole owner and ruler of a

neighboring kingdom, and just the match for their lovely daughter. He

had sworn to them that their child should be kept so securely guarded

that her brother could never reach her.

Eglantine came down from her bower, to be introduced to her father,

mother, and lover all at once. The marriage took place without delay,

and the new king started with his bride for the sea-shore, where they

were to embark for his home.

They set sail in a ship of which the sides were plated with beaten gold.

The sails were of pink satin, and the ropes golden threads plaited

together. The young king and queen sat upon cushions of velvet on the

deck, and talked of their happy future, when suddenly the sky was

darkened as by a cloud, and, riding upon a vulture, the cannibal brother

came after them. He had been hunting, and a wandering breeze carried to

him the story of his sister's escape. Although he had never before heard

he possessed a sister, the first whisper of such a thing was sufficient

to rouse in him the dreadful cannibal instinct to drink her blood. From

where the king and queen sat they could distinctly hear him smacking his

lips with joy at the prospect of his horrible meal. Queen Eglantine,

fearing she knew not what, shuddered from head to foot, and closing her

eyes cast herself upon the king's breast for protection.

The king, bidding her be calm, sprinkled the deck of the ship with one

of the fairy's powders, which he carried in a little crystal box. At the

moment the huge foul bird of prey hovered above them and gave a fierce

swoop downward, the ship and all its contents vanished utterly from

sight, while the vulture with his rider plunged into the sea.

The cannibal prince was a good swimmer, and although his vulture was

immediately drowned, managed to keep up, until he found a dolphin and

got astride its back.

"Now, carry me in pursuit of yonder ship, and mind you swim fast and

well," he exclaimed.

"Master, I obey," said the dolphin, who recognized in him a magician.

"But, look for yourself--blue sky above, blue water below, and not a

sail upon the sea."

The prince looked, and in truth there was no ship to be seen; so,

ordering the dolphin to convey him to the nearest landing-place, he soon

reached the shores of a beautiful country, where flags were flying, and

all the inhabitants were dressed in holiday clothes. Over the wharf was

an arch of most lovely flowers, and five hundred little girls were

strewing the roads with orange blossoms.

"What is taking place?" asked the cannibal brother of the people around

the wharf.

"Where have _you_ been, pray?" said they scornfully, "not to know that

our king brings home his bride to-day!"

Then the ship came in sight and the rejoicings began. The cannibal

brother had no sooner laid eyes upon his sister than a new longing to

drink her blood came over him; and he set about plotting how he could

get hold of her, no easy matter, since the palace was guarded night and

day by twenty white bull-dogs of the fiercest sort, besides the usual

soldiers and attendants. So he took service with a butcher near the

town, and made a bag full of little meat-balls, each one containing a

drop of deadly poison. One day his master sent him to the palace to

carry Queen Eglantine's sweetbreads and mutton-chops. "Now," thought the

brother, "I shall get inside;" but he was mistaken, for the sweetbreads

and mutton-chops were taken from him at the gate, and passed on through

twenty different hands till they reached the cook. As no outsider

whatever was allowed to penetrate the inner palace walls, behind which

the new queen lived surrounded by every luxury, the cannibal brother had

to wait many days for an opportunity to get a sight of her. Meantime his

appetite was gaining terribly, and he went to the blacksmith and had all

his teeth framed in iron, the better to enjoy his horrid meal.

At last King Charming was summoned to meet a neighboring monarch about a

right of way for his armies across a certain peninsula; and, with many

injunctions to the queen not to admit any stranger during his absence,

he reluctantly set out. No sooner was he out of sight than the pretended

butcher's boy hastened to assume his own princely clothing, and, ringing

boldly at the castle gate, told the servants to announce to the queen

that her brother had arrived, bearing messages from her father and

mother. He sent in a golden locket containing likenesses of both the

king and queen, his parents, which convinced Queen Eglantine that his

tale was true. So, joyfully, she ran forth to meet him, and would have

cast herself upon his neck, but that the trained bull-dogs rushed

between, growling most horribly.

"Come here, pretty fellow, nice fellow," said the cannibal brother,

coaxingly; but the dogs only opened their jaws wider than before and

growled defiance.

"Give them these little dainties, sister," said the wily prince,

producing his poisoned meat-balls. "They are some that I always carry

for my own pets."

The innocent queen called the dogs one after another to her side, and

fed them with the fatal balls, which they ate, licking her white hand

gratefully. At once, as the poison began to work, they all lay down in a

row, and became as quiet as they had been before ferocious. The queen

led her brother into an inner room, and bade him sit upon her silken

couch. The prince laughed to himself, for now, thought he, the hour has

come for my coveted meal. But he was seized with the notion to go into

another room in order to file his teeth, which were becoming rather

dull.

"Will you not play for me upon the piano, sister?" he asked lovingly.

The amiable queen, who never waited to be asked twice, sat down to play,

while her brother hid within a closet and began to file his teeth. Up

jumped the queen's cat, in great excitement, and sat on her mistress'

lap.

"Mistress dear," said the affectionate creature, "fly, fly, as fast as

your feet will carry you. Your brother is at this moment getting ready

to make a meal of you, and as he is a magician no one in the castle is

strong enough to defend you from him. In the stable you will find the

king's gray steed. Jump upon his back, and be off, while I play the

piano in your stead."

The terrified queen took to her royal heels, weeping as she stumbled

over the dead bodies of her faithful dogs, and the clever cat sat

playing beautifully so many runs and trills that the prince, admiring

his sister's brilliant execution, made no haste to leave his task until

it was finished to his entire satisfaction.

And now, mounted upon the good gray steed, away flew Queen Eglantine in

search of her beloved spouse. Pretty soon she heard footsteps, and

there, swifter than any horse, swifter than wind, on flew the cannibal

brother after her.

"What shall I do, dear steed?" said the alarmed queen.

"Drop your cloak into the road," said the gray horse, who was the cat's

own cousin.

The queen obeyed, and the cloak became a broad lake, across which the

cannibal brother took a long time to swim. The gray horse got a good

start, but presently the prince came nearly up with him.

"What shall I do now, dear steed?" said the queen, almost ready to fall

fainting from his back.

"Drop the veil from your head," said the horse.

This was done, and the veil became a thick fog, causing the cannibal

brother to lose his way and stumble dreadfully. But he got out of it at

last, and came nearly up with them.

"What shall I do next, dear steed?" said the queen, trembling in every

limb.

"Take your scissors and cut a long lock from your hair, and throw that

behind you."

The queen lifted the scissors that hung at her girdle, and in a moment,

snip! they went into her beautiful golden hair. The hair became a jungle

of tall reeds, and through it the cannibal brother had work indeed to

travel. While he was puffing and blowing and struggling in the reeds,

oh, joy! the queen saw her king riding swiftly to meet her.

Just as the cannibal brother, by a desperate effort of magic strength

had freed himself from the jungle, and emerged in swift pursuit, he had

the mortification of seeing the queen rush into her husband's arms. His

dreadful hunger was now increased until it drove him to desperation.

With a roar of baffled rage he darted toward the royal couple, swearing

that both of them should be his victims; and this no doubt would have

been the case--since the monster was endowed with the strength of fifty

men--but that the king, bidding his queen have no fear, quickly

sprinkled them both, and their steeds, with a pinch of the fairy

fern-seed. Immediately they disappeared from sight, and the cannibal

brother, coming with full force upon the spot where they had been,

beheld only empty space. This disappointment, combined with his now

really appalling appetite, made the miserable wretch fall in a fit upon

the ground.

The king would have killed him where he lay, but the queen pleaded for

her brother's life, so the attendants bore him, insensible, back to the

palace. There, the queen's clever cat advised that he should be left to

her to deal with. She shut herself up with the patient in a tower

bedroom, and during sixty days and nights not a morsel of food passed

the sufferer's lips, except the cat's magic castor-oil--a cupful every

ten minutes--each tasting more nauseous than the one before! In the

morning he was lifted from bed, and put into an ice-cold bath, and then

whipped soundly until his circulation was restored. At the end of the

second month the cat stopped his bath, whipping, and medicines, offering

him instead a handful of parched peas and a dry crust. This diet seemed

to him so delicious that never again could he be tempted to vary it.

Until he reached a green and virtuous old age this prince was never

known to look upon so much as a rare beefsteak without shuddering! His

father, mother, sister, and brother-in-law united their tears of joy at

this happy reform, and who should the clever cat turn out to be, but

aunty, who had taken this means of watching over her favorite Eglantine!

The gray steed was aunty's first cousin upon the mother's side; but when

peace was restored he preferred to go back to his own country to live,

although the grateful King Charming offered him every inducement to

remain, in the way of marble stalls and silver mangers, rose-water to

quench his thirst, and golden oats to eat. Aunty, too, retired to her

own distant castle, and the reformed cannibal lived quiet and happy

until the time came to reign in his good father's stead.

As for Eglantine and King Charming, they never again found use for the

fern-seed powder. Even the faults of one were invisible to the other.

Nothing occurred to disturb the serenity of their entire reign but a

suit for breach-of-promise of marriage, brought against the king's

former tutor by the queen's former governess, Madame Veloutine; and this

was settled speedily by the tutor announcing that, rather than make any

fuss about the matter, he would marry the old lady and be done with it,

although he really could not imagine what there had been in his past

conduct to put such an idea into her venerable head. So at last

Veloutine got a husband, and nobody could be surprised at anything after

that.

DAME MARTHA'S STEP-DAUGHTER; OR, THE GRANDMOTHER OF THE GNOMES.

Dame Martha lived at the foot of a high mountain. Her cottage was large

enough to give shelter only to herself and two young girls, one of them

her own child and the other the child of Dame Martha's late husband,

who, about six months before this story opens, slipped down a fissure in

the rocks and had nevermore been seen. Dame Martha did not bear a very

good character in the neighborhood, as she was known to be violent in

temper and dishonest in her dealings. While her husband lived, she had

quarrelled with him from morning till night, and after he disappeared,

people used to hint that Dame Martha knew better than any one else how

the poor man came to his sudden death. But nothing was ever proved upon

her, and as the dame's cottage stood in a desolate valley, overshadowed

by a frowning cliff on which grew a single lightning-blasted pine-tree,

children shunned the lonely spot, and few grown people found anything to

attract them in that direction. Margaret, the dame's own daughter, was a

handsome haughty lass of about nineteen, so spoiled and self-willed that

she bid fair to rival her mother in temper, in the course of time.

Hilda, the step-daughter, was a fair and gentle little creature, sixteen

years of age, who bore with patient cheerfulness all the unhappiness of

her lot. Sometimes, for days together, she would be left alone in the

house, while Dame Martha and Margaret dressed themselves up in all their

finery, and went off to fairs and merrymakings in the neighboring town.

Melancholy were the hours spent in a solitude unbroken save by the rush

of the waterfall leaping from cliff to cliff, or the hootings of owls

after nightfall, and the unceasing wail of the wind through the forest.

But Hilda was at least spared the sound of Margaret's taunting voice and

laugh, and the cruel scolding tongue of her step-mother. These two

wicked women were heartily tired of Hilda, and cast about in their

minds how they could get rid of her, and take possession of a little bag

of gold pieces coming to her from her father. Then, thought they, the

old house could be shut up and left to the rats and bats, while they

might set out on their travels and enjoy life.

One day, when Hilda was bleaching the linen on a patch of grass near the

brook, her step-mother called out, "Hilda, the red cow has strayed away,

and I hear her bell over by the old stone quarry. Be quick, and you may

head her off."

Hilda secured her linen, and with nimble steps, ran up the steep

mountain side. She did not fancy the idea of going by the old stone

quarry, for there it had been, six months before, that her dear father

was last seen in life. Near that spot his hat and shepherd-staff had

been found. But Hilda was accustomed to obey without remonstrance, and

away she ran, climbing as lightly as a mountain goat. She too, could

hear the tinkle of the little bell far up among the bushes, and guided

by the sound, she drew near the dreaded scene of her greatest sorrow. A

thick screen of fir bushes lay between her and the red cow's place of

refuge. Interwoven with evergreens, grew masses of alpine-rose, whose

tough branches became entangled in Hilda's feet, and hid the path from

sight. At last, she found herself in a dense thicket, not knowing how to

emerge. As she paused for a moment to look about her, the red cow's bell

tinkled again--a strange uncertain tinkle this--immediately behind the

bushes at her left.

"There you are, good-for-nothing!" cried Hilda, struggling bravely

forward through the undergrowth in the direction indicated by the bell.

She heard a low mocking laugh. Surely that laugh could come only from

her step sister! "Margaret!" she called. No answer, and poor Hilda,

uttering a wild shriek for help, plunged headlong down a hidden opening

in the ground, into a fathomless abyss, where no foot of man might

follow her.

Wicked Margaret stood on the brink of this treacherous pit-fall, known

only to her mother and herself, and laughed, holding in her hand the

little red cow's bell, with which she had lured Hilda to her doom.

"Rest there!" the wretched girl said, kneeling down to peer into the

darkness of the rocky pit. "At any rate, you have found a burial-place

for your bones, alongside of your father, who was never heard to groan

after my mother and I pushed him over the brink here, last autumn! And

now, I will go home, and tell the old woman that we are rid of all our

burdens. Ha! ha! Won't we spend the father's gold, and revel! This very

night must we steal away, and seek our fortune in a distant country."

Hilda fell, unharmed, upon a hillock of soft green moss, so far, so far

beneath the ledge whence Margaret had pushed her, that the opening above

looked no bigger than a star. The poor girl was overcome by her terrible

fate, and for a long time she lay weeping as if her heart would break.

Then, looking about her, she saw the opening to a cavern in the rocks,

resembling an arch of crystal, so bravely did it glitter.

Around the hillock where she lay was a small courtyard with turf as

smooth as velvet, and upon the rocky walls encircling it were trained

vines of roses, myrtle and jasmine, covered with lovely blossoms. Hilda,

who knew best the alp-rose and the corn-flower, the hardy violet and the

rock-seeking columbine, had never seen such rare and radiant flowers as

these, and their rich perfume intoxicated her with delight. Stealing

down the side of the cliff, trickled a sparkling rivulet, its stream

caught in a basin of gleaming pearl. Hilda, enchanted by the lovely

scene, forgot her grief, and felt a longing desire to follow the path of

many-colored pebbles leading beneath the crystal arch. Without a token

of fear, she tripped along this pretty path winding through a gallery

supported by pillars of frosted silver. Here and there glowed a lamp of

pink, blue or crimson, fashioned like a flower. Strains of sweet music

were heard in the distance, and at last Hilda reached a gate of golden

trellis-work, beside which slept a tiny old man, whose beard and hair

fell over his red mantle to the very ground.

"He is very old, and no doubt needs his rest," said Hilda; "I won't

disturb him, poor old man." So she sat down on the ground at his feet,

and every time his head nodded to his knees, she would pick up the queer

little red cap that fell off of it, and put it on again. After a long,

comfortable nap, the old fellow woke up, and saw Hilda sitting at his

feet.

"You are a kind maiden," he said, for he was of a race that know

everything without waiting to be told--the Gnomes. "Since you have been

so good to me, I will let you pass the wicket. Six months ago your

father came this way, and if you can but make friends with our mistress,

you may be allowed to see him."

"My father! My dear father!" cried Hilda, overjoyed. "Oh! you good, kind

gateman, do lead me to where he is."

"Hush! not a sound," said the Gnome, looking about him in alarm.

"Everything has ears and tongues too in this place. One warning will I

give you. Answer not when spoken to, serve faithfully, break nothing,

show no surprise; and when you can capture the bird that bathes daily in

the fountain of life, save the drops from off his plumage. Now go on;

and farewell, as no one who passes me comes back this way."

Hilda was frightened by the mystery of the warning, but continued on her

way, through a long and winding passage in the rocks, dimly lighted here

and there by hanging lamps of alabaster. Reaching another little

wicket-gate of golden trellis-work, she summoned all her courage and

rang the bell. Out came a hideous crone, whose ears, grown to an

enormous size, hung down upon her neck, and who, without asking her

business, opened the gate.

"If ears grow like this," thought Hilda, "I had, indeed, better hold my

tongue and say nothing to give offence." So, pretending to be dumb, she

curtsied to the crone, and made signs that she wanted food and drink.

The old woman led Hilda along the path of a neglected garden, to a house

built of gray lichen from the bark of trees, and thatched with hoary

moss. The windows were barred, and in the open doorway sat a cross old

dame, at her knitting. She had a hump, ears larger than those of the

lodge-keeper, and claws hooked like an eagle's.

"What! another of those foolish mortals fallen down our pit!" she cried,

angrily; "I have half a mind to kill her on the spot." But Hilda looked

so meek and imploring, standing there and saying not a word, that the

Grandmother of the Gnomes relented. "Well, well," she grunted,

"although she is decidedly overgrown, and has ridiculously small ears, I

suppose I may as well try her for a nurse-maid. If she proves

unfaithful, there will be plenty to tell of it, and she will soon go the

way of all the rest."

Hilda was pleased at the idea of being a nurse-maid, for she always got

on well with children. She followed the G. G. (really, if you will

excuse me, it will save a great deal of trouble sometimes to abbreviate

the old lady's title) inside the queer little house, and there was a

room full of owls, bats, toads, mice, and spiders, who came flocking

around the new-comer, with every expression of delight.

"Oh! you pretty darlings!" cried the old woman, kissing them

rapturously, "here is a new nurse for you; and mind you keep her busy."

When Hilda found that she was expected to bathe, and clean, and walk out

with, and sleep with these loathsome creatures, she felt that she had

rather die. But fear of the terrible G. G. kept her silent, and setting

about her task, she soon had them ready for an airing in the garden.

Here she beheld many strange sights, but nothing more curious than to

see all the bushes and plants and trees bearing large ears, which, as

she drew near, became erect and fixed in an attitude of attention.

Remembering the caution of the friendly gnome to express no surprise,

Hilda drove her little flock before her along the garden path, then

returning to the house, fed them and put them to bed in the most orderly

fashion. For reward, she found, on a bench outside the door, a nice bowl

of milk with fine white bread and butter, and after devouring it

eagerly, she fell asleep. When she awoke next day, Hilda found herself

in another garden. This one was most beautiful. All the rose-bushes had

gold or silver leaves, and flowers made of jewels. She longed to twitch

off one of the shining leaves, but dared not, contenting herself with

watering their roots and neatly clearing up the paths, as the Gnome

Grandmother had directed her. For reward, she had a bowl of delicious

hot soup, and a cup of amber jelly, and falling asleep, she awakened

next day in still another garden. Here sported birds of radiant hue and

plumage, singing delightfully, as they flitted about the brim of a great

marble fountain on a grassy lawn, surrounded by blooming flowers.

"Here, children, I bring you a new nurse-maid," said the Gnome

Grandmother, presenting her to the birds; and immediately, the lovely

creatures surrounded Hilda, perching on her arms, her head, her

shoulders, and caressing her with evident pleasure.

"Now that you have successfully met my three tests--the first, of your

fidelity, by doing your duty toward the creatures you abhorred;

secondly, by passing through my jewel-garden without plucking a flower

or leaf; thirdly, by showing no surprise at the wonders you have

seen--you have proved yourself worthy to be the keeper of my birds,"

said the old woman. "It is well for you that the ears have heard no

grumbling. And mind you go on as you've begun."

Hilda thanked her with beaming glances, but would not venture to speak,

although she longed to ask news of her dear father. "To those who wait,

all things come in time," she remembered her father used to say, and

determined not to break silence yet a while. The Grandmother of the

Gnomes disappeared, and Hilda set herself to the task of caring for her

new and lovely pets. Around the garden were bowers of sweet-smelling

honeysuckle, and in each of these hung a silver cage. Hilda's duty was

to cover the bottoms of the cages with sand of broken diamonds, to

gather fresh sprays of flowers to stick between their bars, and to fill

the jewelled drinking-troughs with dew from the cups of flowers. Day

after day passed in attendance upon the birds, who all became devoted to

her, in return. Each morning the Grandmother of the Gnomes came into the

garden, and sometimes even smiled on Hilda, her grin making her ugliness

and deformity seem to increase, if possible. Still Hilda dared not speak

the words that were always trembling on her tongue. When night came, the

young girl retired to rest in a delightful little house shaped from a

bush of growing box, out of which doors and windows had been cut. Within

was a bed of moss like velvet, and a coverlet made of the woven wings of

the butterfly, with blankets of swansdown. Her meals were served by

unseen hands. Punctually at breakfast, dinner, and tea-time, there

sprang up in the bower house a little table shaped like a huge mushroom,

covered with dainty food in dishes of gold and silver. New clothes were

prepared for her, and laid across the foot of her couch while she slept.

Among them were gauzy gowns that seemed to have been cut from the clouds

after sunset, cobweb handkerchiefs, shoes made of mole-skin, and

necklaces of petrified dew-drops. Hilda might have been quite happy but

for the continual thought that her father was imprisoned somewhere near,

and her longing to find him and tell him she was there. One night, while

she lay thinking, apparently asleep, footsteps came to the side of her

bed, and stopped. Somebody held a lamp close to her face, but Hilda

pretended to be in a deep slumber, and soon the G. G., for she it was,

went away, pattering about the bower, and talking to the old

lodge-keeper, who followed her.