mother ceased reading, and, lifting up her eyes, looked at her
daughter with mingled love, admiration, and interest. "I wish I had
her picture so," dreamt the poor lady, as she gazed; "so earnest, and
understanding, and yet so simple, and kind!--There is but one
difficulty for her in life," was the next thought; "with such keen
enjoyment of this world, such appreciation of the beauties, and
wonders, and delights of God's creations on earth--to keep the eye of
faith firmly fixed on the 'better and more enduring inheritance,' to
which both she and I, but I trust she, far behind, are hastening. Yet,
by God's blessing, and with Christian training, and the habit of
active charity, and the vicissitudes of life, I have few or no fears.
But such capability of happiness in this world is a great temptation,
and I sometimes fancy must therefore have been a Fairy gift." And here
the no longer young Mother of Hermione fell into a reverie, and a long
pause ensued, during which Ambrosia felt very sad, for it grieved her
to think that the good and reasonable Mother should be so much afraid
of Fairy gifts, even when the result had been so favourable.
A note at length interrupted the prolonged silence. It was from Aurora
the Beauty, whose Father possessed a large estate in the
neighbourhood, and who had just then come into the country for a few
weeks. Aurora earnestly requested Hermione and her Mother to visit
her.
"I will do as you wish," said Hermione, looking rather grave; "but
really a visit to Aurora is a sort of small misfortune."
"I hope you are not envious of her beauty, Hermione? Take care."
"Nay, you are cruel, Mamma, now. I should like to be handsome, but not
at the expense of being so very dull in spirits as poor Aurora often
is. But really, unless you have ever spent an hour alone with her, you
can form no idea of how tired one gets."
"What of, Hermione? of her face?"
"Oh no, not of her face; it is charming, and by the way you have just
put into my head how I may escape from being tired, even if I am left
alone with her for hours!"
"Nay, now you really puzzle me, my dear; I suggested nothing but
looking at her face."
"Ah, but as she is really and truly such a model of beauty, what do
you think of offering to make a likeness of her, Mamma? It will
delight her to sit and be looked at, even by me, in the country, and I
shall be so much pleased to have such a pleasant occupation. I am
quite reconciled to the idea of going."
And a note was written, and despatched accordingly.
"But," persisted Hermione, rising to sit near her Mother, "you do not
above half know Aurora. One would think she had been born in what is
called a 'four warnt way,' with nothing but cross roads about her.
Nothing is ever right. She is always either exhausted with the heat of
the sun, or frozen with cold, or the evening is so tedious, she wants
it to be bedtime, or if there is any unusual gaiety going on, she
quarrels with the same length of evening, because it is so intolerably
short; and, in short, she is never truly happy but when she is
surrounded by admirers, whether men or women. And this seems to me to
be a sad way of '_getting her time over_,' as the poor women say of
life. Ah, Mamma, it goes but too quickly."
"Aurora is indeed foolish," musingly ejaculated the Mother.
"Not altogether either, my dear Mother. She knows much; but the fault
is, she cares for nothing. She has got the carcase, as it were, of
knowledge and accomplishments; but the vivifying spirit is wanting.
You know yourself how well she plays and sings occasionally, if there
is a question of charming a room full of company. Yet there can be no
sentiment about her music after all, or it would be an equal pleasure
to her at other times. But really it almost makes me as discontented
with life as herself to hear her talk in unexcited hours. Turning over
my books one day, she said, 'You can never be either a poet or a
painter, or a Mozart or a philosopher, Hermione? what is the use of
all your labour and poking?' What could I say? I felt myself colour
up, and I laughed out, 'Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher, all is
vanity!' Yet certainly God has set before us the things of earth in
order that we may admire and find them out; and that is the answer to
all such foolish questions!" And Hermione was turning to leave the
room, but she came back and said--"Do you know, Mamma, though you will
laugh at the idea, I do think Aurora would be a very nice girl, and
very happy, if she either could grow very ugly all at once, or if any
thing in the world could make her forget her beauty.--And," added she,
in a half whisper, "if there is any thing in Fairy lore, I could
almost fancy some cruel Fairy had owed her family a grudge, and had
given her this gift of excessive beauty on purpose to be the plague
and misfortune of her life."
* * * * *
"Enough, enough, and too much," cried Euphrosyne impatiently. "The
matter is now, I think, concluded. Ianthe and I have failed, and
though you are successful, Ambrosia, even you have not come off
without a rebuff. Now, farewell to earth. I am weary of it. I do not
know your gift, and I am sick of listening to conversations I cannot
understand. Let us begone. If we de delay, they will begin again. Ah,
my sisters, my spirit yearns for our fairer clime!"
And they arose; but yet awhile they lingered on the velvet lawn before
that country-house, for as they were preparing for flight, the sounds
they loved so well, of harmonious music, greeted their ears.
"Ah, there is the artist's hand again," cried Ambrosia. "I see the
lovely sketch before me once more!"
And so it was, that it, and the peaceful forest scene, and the
interesting face of Hermione, seemed to reappear before them all as
they listened to her music. Tender, and full of sentiment were the
sounds at first, as if the musician were acting the scene of the opera
whence they came.
"Lieder ohne Worte,"[3] murmured Ambrosia.
[3] Songs without Words.--Mendelssohn.
But it was to the swelling sounds of a farewell chorus that they arose
into the air, and took their leave of earth.
And now, dear Readers, there is but one thing more to do. To ask if
you have guessed the Fairy gift?
The Fairies, you see, had not. What Euphrosyne had said was true. They
had listened to such a quantity of conversation they could not
understand, and they were so unused to _think_ much about any thing,
or to hear much beyond their own pretty light talk and sweet songs,
that their poor little brains had got quite muddled.
Perhaps remaining so long in the Earth's atmosphere helped to cloud
their intelligence. Certain it is, they returned very pensive, very
cross, and rather dusty to Fairy Land.
They arrived at the beautiful bay I first described, and floated to a
large party of their sisters, who were dancing on the sands.
There was a clapping of tiny hands, and shouts of joy as they
approached; and "What news? what news?" cried many voices.
"Ah, what news, Sister Euphrosyne!" cried little Aglaia, floating
forward, "from the smudgy old earth; Is it beauty, riches, or what?"
"I cannot answer your question," said Euphrosyne, pushing forward.
A circle was now formed round the travellers, and the details I have
given you were made by Ianthe. And she wound up by saying, "And what
Ambrosia's gift to Hermione has been, we cannot make out."
"Then I will tell you!" cried little Aglaia, springing lightly high
into the air, and descending gently on a huge shell at her feet; "_She
likes every thing she does, and she likes to be always doing
something_. You can't put the meaning into one word, as you can Beauty
and Riches; but still it _is_ something. Can't you think of some way
of saying what I have told you? Dear me, how stupid you are all grown.
And _liking_ isn't the right word: it is something stronger than
common _liking_."
"Love, perhaps," murmured Leila.
"An excellent idea," cried Euphrosyne; "dear me, this delicious air is
clearing my poor head. Sisters, I will express it for you, and
Ambrosia shall say if I am right. It is THE LOVE OF EMPLOYMENT."
Ambrosia laughed assent; but a low murmur of discontent resounded
through the Fairy group.
"Intolerable!" cried Leila, shrugging her shoulders like a French
woman.
"It is no Fairy gift at all," exclaimed others; "it is downright
plodding and working."
"If the human race can be made happy by nothing but labour," cried
another; "I propose we leave them to themselves, and give them no more
Fairy gifts at all."
"Remember," cried Ambrosia, now coming forward, "this is our first
experiment upon human happiness. Hitherto we have given Fairy gifts,
and never enquired how they have acted. And I feel sure we have always
forgotten one thing, viz. that poor men and women living in Time, and
only having in their power the small bit of it which is present,
cannot be happy unless they make Time present happy. And there is but
one plan for that; I use Aglaia's words: '_To like every thing you do,
and like to be always doing something_.'"
Ambrosia ceased speaking, and the circled group were silent too. They
were not satisfied, however; but those sweet, airy people take nothing
to heart for long. For a short time they wandered about in little
knots of two and three, talking, and then joined together in a dance
and song, ere night surrounded them. There was from that time,
however, a general understanding among them that the human race was
too coarse and common to have much sympathy with Fairies, and even the
Godmothers agreed to this, for they were sadly tired with the unusual
quantity of thinking and observing they had had to undergo. So if you
ever wonder, dear Readers, that Fairy Gifts and Fairy Godmothers have
gone out of fashion; you may conclude that the adventure of Ambrosia
and Hermione is the reason.
* * * * *
The story is ended; and if any enquiring child should say, "There are
no more Fairy gifts, and we can no more give ourselves love of
employment than beauty or riches;" let me correct this dangerous
error! Wiser heads than mine have shown that every thing we do becomes
by HABIT, not only _easy_, but actually _agreeable_.[4]
[4] Abercrombie. Moral Feelings.
Dear Children! encourage a habit of _attention_ to whatever you
undertake, and you may make that habit not only easy, but agreeable;
and then, I will venture to promise you, you will _like_ and even
_love_ your occupations. And thus, though you may not have so many
talents as Hermione, you may call all those you do possess, into play,
and make them the solace, pleasure and resources of your earthly
career.
If you do this, I think you will not feel disposed to quarrel, as the
Fairies did, with Ambrosia's gift; for increased knowledge of the
world, and your own happy experience, will convince you more and more
that no Fairy Gift is so well worth having, as,
THE LOVE OF EMPLOYMENT.
JOACHIM THE MIMIC.
There was, once upon a time, a little boy, who, living in the time
when Genies and Fairies used now and then to appear, had all the
advantage of occasionally seeing wonderful sights, and all the
_dis_advantage of being occasionally dreadfully frightened. This
little boy was one day walking alone by the sea side, for he lived in
a fishing town, and as he was watching the tide, he perceived a bottle
driven ashore by one of the big waves. He rushed forward to catch it
before the wave sucked it back again, and succeeded. Now then he was
quite delighted, but he could not get the cork out, for it was
fastened down with rosin, and there was a seal on the top. So being
very impatient, he took a stone and knocked the neck of the bottle
off.
What was his surprize to find himself instantly suffocated with a
smoke that made his eyes smart and his nose sneeze, just as much as if
a quantity of Scotch snuff had been thrown over him! He jumped about
and puffed a good deal, and was just beginning to cry, as a matter of
course for a little boy when he is annoyed; when lo! and behold! he
saw before him such an immense Genie, with black eyes and a long
beard, that he forgot all about crying and began to shake with fear.
The Genie told him he need not be afraid, and desired him not to
shake; for, said he, "You have been of great use to me; a Genie,
stronger than myself, had fastened me up in yonder bottle in a fit of
ill humour, and as he had put his seal at the top, nobody could draw
the cork. Luckily for me, you broke the neck of the bottle, and I am
free. Tell me therefore, good little boy, what shall I do for you to
show my gratitude?"
But now, before I go on with this, I must tell you that the day before
the little boy's adventure with the bottle and the Genie, the King of
that country had come to the fishing town I spoke of, in a gold
chariot drawn by twelve beautiful jet black horses, and attended by a
large train of officers and followers. A herald went before announcing
that the King was visiting the towns of his dominions, for the sole
purpose of doing justice and exercising acts of charity and kindness.
And all people in trouble and distress were invited to come and lay
their complaints before him. And accordingly they did so, and the good
King, though quite a youth, devoted the whole day to the benevolent
purpose he proposed; and it is impossible to describe the amount of
good he accomplished in that short time. Among others who benefited
was our little boy's Mother, a widow who had been much injured and
oppressed. He redressed her grievances, and in addition to this,
bestowed valuable and useful presents upon her. "Look what an example
the young King sets," was the cry on every side! "Oh, my son, imitate
him!" exclaimed our poor Widow, as in a transport of joy and emotion,
she threw her arms around her boy's neck. "I wish I _could_ imitate
him and be like him!" murmured little Joachim: (such was the child's
name). "My boy," cried the Widow, "imitate every thing that is good,
and noble, and virtuous, and you _will_ be like him!" Joachim looked
earnestly in her face, but was silent. He understood a good deal that
his Mother meant; he knew he was to try to do every thing that was
good, and so be like the young King; but, as he was but a little boy,
I am not quite sure that he had not got a sort of vague notion of the
gold chariot and the twelve jet black horses, mixed up with his idea
of imitating all that was good and noble and virtuous, and being like
the young King. I may be wrong; but, at seven years old, you will
excuse him if his head did get a little confused, and if he could not
quite separate his ideas of excessive virtue and goodness from all the
splendour in which the pattern he was to imitate appeared before his
eyes.
However that may be, his Mother's words made a profound impression
upon him. He thought of nothing else, and if he had been in the silly
habit of telling his dreams, I dare say he would have told his mother
next morning that he had been dreaming of them. Certainly they came
into his head the first thing in the morning; and they were still in
his head when he walked along by the sea-shore, as has been described;
so much so, that even his adventure did not make him forget them; and
therefore, when this Genie, as I told you before, offered to do any
thing he wanted, little Joachim said, "Genie, I want to imitate every
thing that is good, and noble, and virtuous, so you must make me
able!"
The Genie looked very much surprized, and rather confused; he expected
to have been asked for toys, or money, or a new horse, or something
nice of that sort; but Joachim looked very grave, so the Genie saw he
was in earnest, and he did a most wonderful thing for a Genie; he
actually sat down beside the little boy to talk to him. I don't
recollect that a single Genie in the Arabian Nights, ever did such a
thing before; but this Genie did: What is more, he stroked his beard,
and spoke very softly, as follows:
"My dear little boy, you have asked a great thing. I can do part of
what you wish, but not all; for you have asked what concerns the heart
and conscience, and we Genies, cannot influence these, for the great
Ruler of all things alone has them under his control. He allows us,
however, power over the intellect--ah! now I see you cannot understand
me, little boy!--Well! I mean this;--I can make your head clever, but
I cannot make your heart good: I can give you the power of imitation,
but as to _what_ you imitate, that must depend upon yourself, and the
great Being I dare not name!"
After saying this, the Genie laid his immense forefingers on each side
of Joachim's head just above his forehead, and then disappeared.
Joachim felt no pain, but when he got up and put on his cap to go
home, his head seemed almost too large for it.
Perhaps he wanted a new cap, but the phrenologists would tell you he
had got the organ of Imitation.
He did not thoroughly understand what the Genie said, but he was
convinced that something had been done towards making him like to the
young King. As he was dawdling home, his eye was struck by the sight
of a beautiful because picturesque dark fishing-boat, which he saw
very plainly, because the red sun was setting behind it. Joachim felt
a strange wish to make something like it; and, taking up a bit of
white chalk he saw at his feet, he drew a picture of the boat on the
tarred side of another that was near him. While he was so engaged, an
old fisherman came up very angrily. He thought the child was
disfiguring his boat; but, to his surprise, he saw that the little
fellow's drawing was so capital, he wished he could do as much
himself.
"Why, who taught you to do that, young Master?" said he.
Joachim was no great talker at any time, and he now merely said,
"Nobody," and smiled.
"Well, you must draw my boat some day, for me to hang up; and now
here's a luck penny for you, for you certainly are a capital hand for
such a youngster."
Joachim was greatly pleased with the penny, for it was a curious old
one, with a hole through it; and he told his Mother all about it; but
though it may seem strange, he never mentioned the bottle and the
Genie to her at all. That appeared to him to be a quite private affair
of his own.
He altered very much, however, by degrees. He had been till then
rather a dull, silent boy: now he talked much more, was more amusing,
was always endeavouring to draw, and after being at church would try
to read the prayers like the parson. His Mother was delighted. She
began to think her son would grow up a good scholar after all, and
being now well off, owing to the King's kindness, she resolved on
sending little Joachim to school.
To school, accordingly, he went; and here, my little readers, there
was a great change for him. Hitherto he had lived very much alone with
his Mother, and being quiet, and somewhat dull by nature, he had never
till quite lately had many acquaintances of his own age.
Now, however, he found himself among great numbers of youths, of all
ages, and all characters. At first he was shy and observant, but this
soon wore off, and he became a favourite. Nobody was more liked at any
time, and he was completely unrivalled in the play-ground. He could
set all the boys in a roar of laughter, when, hid behind a bush, he
would bark so like a dog that the unhappy wights who were not in the
secret expected to see a vicious hound spring out upon them, and took
to their heels in fright. He was first in every attempt at acting,
which the boys got up; and there was not a cat nor a pig in the
neighbourhood whose mew and squeak he could not give with the utmost
exactness. If you ask how he got on at lessons, I must say--well, but
not _very_ well. His powers of entertaining his companions were so
great, that I fear he found their easily-acquired praise more tempting
than the rewards of laborious learning. He could learn easily enough,
it is true; but while his steadier neighbours were working hard, he
was devising some new scheme for fun when lessons should be over, or
making some odd drawing on his slate to induce his companions to an
outburst of laughter.
There were many excuses to be made for little Joachim; and it is
always so pleasant to please, that I do not much wonder at his being
led astray by possessing the power.
Time went on, meanwhile; and Joachim became aware at last that he
possessed a larger share than common of the power of imitation. When
he first clearly felt this, he thought of the Genie and his two
forefingers, I believe;--but his school life, and his funny ways, and
the constant diversion of his mind, quite prevented his thinking of
all the serious things the Genie had spoken. Nay, even his Mother's
words had nearly faded from his mind, and he had forgotten the young
King, and his own wishes to be like him. It was a pity it was so; but
so it was! Poor Joachim! he was a very good fellow, and kind also in
reality; but first the pleasure of making his companions laugh, and
then the pleasure of being a sort of little great man among them, were
fast misleading him. For instance, though at first he amused them by
imitating dogs, and cats, and pigs, he next tried his powers at
imitating any thing queer and odd in the boys themselves, and, for a
time, this was most entertaining. When he mimicked the awkward walk of
one boy, and the bad drawl of another, and the loutish carriage of a
third, the school resounded with shouts of laughter, which seemed to
our Hero a great triumph,--something like the cheers which had greeted
the good young King as he left the fishing-town. But certainly the
cause was a very different one! By degrees, however, it must be
admitted, that Joachim's popularity began a little to decrease; for,
though a boy has no objection to see his neighbour laughed at, he does
not like quite so well to be laughed at himself, and there are very
few who can bear it with good humour. And now Joachim had given such
way to the pastime, that he was always hunting up absurdities in his
friends and neighbours, and _no one felt safe_.
It was a long time before Joachim found out the change that was taking
place, for there were still plenty of loud laughers on his side; but
once or twice he had a feeling that all was not right: for instance,
one day when he mimicked the awkward walker to the boy who spoke badly
and stuttered, and then in the afternoon imitated the stutterer to the
awkward boy, he had a twinge of conscience, for it whispered to him
that he was a sneak, and deceitful; particularly, as both these boys
had often helped him in doing his sums and lessons when he was too
idle and _too funny_ to labour at them himself. In fact, he had been
so much helped that he was sadly behind hand in his books, for all the
school had been willing to assist "that good fellow '_Joke him_,'" as
they called him.
At last a crisis came. A new boy arrived at the school; very big for
his age, and rather surly tempered, but a hard working, persevering
lad, who was striving hard to learn and get on. He had one defect. He
lisped very much, which certainly is an ugly trick, and sounded silly
in a great stout boy, nearly five feet high: but he had this excuse;
--his mother had died when he was very little, and his good Father had
more important business on hand in supporting his family, of which
this boy was the eldest, than in teaching him to pronounce his S's
better. It is perhaps only Mothers who attend to these little matters.
Well;--this great big boy was two or three days at the school before
Joachim went near him. There was something serious, stern, and unfunny
in his face, and when Joachim was making the other boys laugh, the
great big boy never even smiled, but fixed his eyes in a rather
unpleasant manner upon Joachim as he raised them from his books. Still
he was an irresistible subject for the Mimic; for, though he learnt
his lessons without a mistake, and always obtained the Master's
praise, he read them with so strong a lisp, and this was rendered so
remarkable by his loud, deep voice, that it fairly upset what little
prudence Joachim possessed; and, as he returned one day to his seat,
after repeating a copy of verses in the manner I have described,
Joachim, who was not far off, echoed the last two lines with such
accuracy of imitation, that it startled even the Master, who was at
that moment leaving the school-room.