fishing going on at the Sea Castle Home.
If you want to know whether any body ever saw the Fairy Island, I must
say, yes; but very seldom. And never but in the evening when the sun
was setting, and that under particular circumstances--namely, when he
went down into a dark red bank of clouds, or when there was a lurid
crimson hue over the sky just above the horizon. Then occasionally you
might see the dim hazy outline as of a beautiful mountainous island
against the clouds, or the deep-coloured sky. There is an island
sometimes seen from our western coast, under similar circumstances,
but which you strain your eyes in vain to discern by the brighter
light of day.[6]
[6] Isle of Man from Blackpool.
It is a very ticklish thing to live on the borders of Fairy Land; for
though you cannot get to the Fairies, they can get to you, and it is
not altogether a pleasant thing to have your private affairs overseen
and interfered with by such beings as they are, though sometimes it
may be most useful and agreeable. Besides which, there was a
Fairy-secret connected with the family that lived at the Sea Castle.
An Ancestress of the present Mistress had been a Fairy herself, and
though she had accommodated herself to mortal manners, and lived with
her husband quite quietly as well as happily, and so her origin had
been in a great measure forgotten, it was not unknown to her
descendant, the Lady Madeline, who now lived in the place. And, in
fact, soon after Lady Madeline first came there, a Fairy named Eudora
had appeared to her, declaring herself to be a sort of distant cousin,
and offering and promising friendship and assistance, whenever asked
or even wished for. In return, she only begged to be allowed to visit,
and ramble at will about the old place which she had known for so many
many long years, and had once had the unlimited run of; and she
protested with tears that the family should never in any way be
disturbed by her. Lady Madeline could not well refuse the request, but
I cannot say she gave her fairy acquaintance any encouragement; and so
poor Eudora never showed herself to them again. And Madeline never
thought much about her, except now and then accidentally, when, if
they were walking on the sands, some extraordinarily rare and
beautiful shells would be thrown ashore by a wave at the children's
feet, as if tossed up especially for their amusement. And it was only
in some such kind little way as this they were ever reminded of the
Fairy's existence.
Lady Madeline's eldest son, Roderick, always seemed most favoured by
the Fairy in the pretty things she sent ashore, and certainly he was a
very nice boy, and a very good one on the whole--cheerful and honest
as the daylight, and very intelligent; but I cannot tell you, dear
readers, that he had _no_ faults, for that was not at all likely, and
you would not believe it if I said so, even although he is to be the
Hero of my tale.
Now I do not want to make you laugh at him, but the story requires
that I should reveal to you one of his weak points. Well then,
although he was six years old, he was afraid of being alone in the
dark! Sometimes when he was in the large dining room with his Father
and Mother at dinner time, she would perhaps ask him to fetch
something for her from the drawing room which was close by; but, do
you know, if there were no candles in the room, he would look very
silly and refuse to go, even though there were a fire sufficient to
see by. He was too honest to make any false excuses, so he used just
to say that the room was so dark he could not go!
Poor Madeline was very sorry, for she wanted her little boy to be
brave, but somehow or other he had got very silly about his fears of
being in the dark, and she could not succeed in curing him of his
folly.
"My dear Roderick," she would say sometimes, "if I send in some
candles, will you go into the drawing room?"
"O yes, Mamma."
"Then do you really mean to say you think _the Candles take care of
you_?"
"No, Mamma."
"Then why won't you go into the room without; you know there is a
fire?
"Because it is so dark, Mamma."
Here was a difficulty indeed; for you see he _would_ come back to the
old point, and would not listen to reason.
One day some conversation of this sort having passed between them,
Madeline, as she was wont to do, asked him if God could not take care
of him by night as well as by day; in the dark as well as in light,
for "the darkness and light are both alike to him."
"Oh yes," cried poor Roderick, with great animation, "and I can tell
you a story about that. There was, once upon a time, a little Boy and
a Nurse who went out walking, and they walked so long they got
benighted in a very dark wood, and because it was so dark the Nurse
screamed and was very much frightened; and the little boy said,
'Nurse, why are you frightened? Don't be frightened; I am not
frightened. God can take care of us in the dark as well as in the
light,'"
"Oh Roderick! what a pretty story," cried his Mamma.
And so thought Roderick; for his eye glistened and his cheek flushed
as he came to the conclusion.
And here, dear readers, was the worst difficulty of all; for though
Roderick's reason was quite convinced that God could take care of him
in the dark, he still could not bear to be in the dark without the
help of candles besides, though he quite knew they could not take care
of him at all. So you see by this that Reason, though it may convince
a person he is wrong, cannot put him right. There wants some other
help for that. And here let me just stop a moment to beg you to beware
of _bad habits_; for you see they become at last more powerful than
reason itself.
I do not know how Roderick first got into his foolish habit, and it
does not much matter. I know he at one time had a fancy there was
something unpleasant about the pipes that carried the water about the
house, and he would not for a long time go by the pipes alone. Now,
how you laugh! well, but he got out of that nonsense; and I hope to be
able to tell you that he got out of the other too: but at the time I
speak of, he made his Mamma full of sorrow for his want of sense and
courage.
It must be admitted that there were one or two excuses to be made for
the child. There was a great contrast between the Town House and the
Sea Castle. The Town House was full of lights. All the sitting rooms
were generally lighted, for a great deal of company came there, and
there were always lights along the passages; and the nursery windows
looked into a square, and the square was lighted up by lamps every
night; and it was one of Roderick's greatest pleasures to watch the
lamplighter running quickly up the tall ladder to the lamps to light
them, and then popping down again equally hurriedly, and running along
(ladder and all) to the next lamp post, and so on, till the square was
brilliant all round; and very often, as Roderick lay in his little bed
watching the glimmering thrown by these pretty lamps on the nursery
wall, he used to think and think of his friend the nimble lamplighter,
till he dropped fast asleep. You see, therefore, he had very little to
try his courage in the Town House, and there was seldom or never any
fuss about his fears till the move to the Sea Castle took place; and
then there were no more lamps and lamplighters, and no more
comfortable glimmerings from his bright pets the lamps after he went
to bed; and he used to get silly directly, and declare that he saw
bears whenever he shut his eyes; and he seemed to expect to find lions
and tigers under the sofas, by the fuss he made when he was asked to
go into the rooms. Certainly there was a grand old fashioned lamp in
the hall of the Sea Castle; but the hall itself was so big, and went
up so high, that the light in one part only seemed to make the shadow
and darkness of the other part look blacker still; so that I must
confess there was something gloomy about the house. Then, too, there
were those two turrets with the winding staircases, and as Roderick
had never dared to do any thing more than peep in at the low entrance
doors below, where he saw nothing but four or five steps going up into
complete blackness, he had got a sort of notion there must be
something horrid about them.
Well; it was soon after this little boy's sixth birthday, that the
family arrived at the Sea-Castle, and it so happened, that, on the day
after their arrival, there was some very stormy and dismal weather.
The wind howled very loudly, and there was a good deal of rain; and
Lady Madeline wished they had waited a week or two longer. The sky was
so charged and heavy, too, that they found the house very dark, even
by day-light; and Roderick, who was a little tired with his journey
the day before, began to fancy all kinds of nonsense; talked more
about seeing bears than ever; and finally cried tremendously at going
to bed, declaring he was sure there was a tiger in the coal-pan. Now
you know, my dears, this was a bit of great nonsense; for Roderick
knew quite well that there are no wild beasts in England but what are
kept in very strong cages; and that the men who take wild-beast shows
round the country can by no means afford to let their tigers sleep in
nursery coal-pans!
Poor Madeline never liked to see any of her children go to bed in
tears. And Roderick was so gay and merry generally, it seemed quite
unnatural in him; but though at last he left off crying, she could not
persuade him to be cheerful, and smile; for he declared that as soon
as ever she took her candle away, he could not help seeing those
unlucky bears. Was there ever any thing so silly before! She reasoned
with him, but to no purpose. He always said he quite believed in God's
presence, and His being able to take care of him; but, as I said
before, his bad habit had got the better of his good sense, and he
finished off every thing that could be said, by seeing bears, and
dreading a tiger in the coal-pan.
"What are we to do with that child?" cried Madeline to her husband, as
they were going to bed. "He is beginning as foolishly as ever this
year, in spite of being a year older. I really shall at last be
inclined to think that in spite of all her fair promises of friendship
and assistance, and of never injuring the family, the Fairy Eudora
must secretly frighten the child in some way we don't know of."
"No such thing, my dear Madeline; I cannot for a moment believe it;"
said her husband. "I have a better opinion of your relations, the
Fairies, than you have yourself. I am sure Eudora would not break her
word for the world; and there is no mystery about Roderick's folly. He
is full of fancies of all sorts,--some pretty, and some silly ones;
and we must do every thing we can to cure him of the silly ones. It
certainly is a very hard matter to accomplish, for I perceive he
admits the truth of every thing you say, and yet is as silly as ever
at the end. I heartily wish the Fairy Eudora _would_ interfere to cure
him of his nonsense!"
"And so do I, if she could, and would," sighed Madeline; "but she has
quite deserted us. Besides, if she were to come, I don't see how she
could possibly do any good. Fairies cannot change little boys' hearts;
and I must confess I never yet got any good myself from having a Fairy
ancestress, and I have no confidence in them.--Still," pursued the
good lady, as she laid her head on her pillow, "I am not able, it
appears, to convince Roderick myself; and therefore I feel, with you,
that I wish the Fairy would come and try."
"I fear it is in vain to say so now, Madeline. We have wished the poor
creature out of the way so often for the last ten years, that it is
not very likely a single wish the other way will bring her to us."
"No, indeed," murmured the Fairy Eudora, who at that moment was
standing on the shore of the Fairy Island; "you are a pretty pair, you
two, to think of such a thing! I begged to be allowed to come about
the place years ago, and you didn't refuse; but you always kept me
away by _wishing_ I mightn't come; and now, because you are puzzled to
know what to do with your silly child, you want me with you for the
first time these ten years! Oh, you selfish people, don't fancy I'll
come near you!" And the justly angry Fairy stamped her foot in
indignation, and retired into private apartments in the palace.
Do not be surprised at what you have just heard, my dear children; for
though you may have never thought about the power and importance of
_wishes_, there is, I assure you, a great deal of both one and the
other belonging to them. Some people talk, indeed, of "mere wishes,"
as if they were trifles light as air; but it is not so. To prove this,
first think what importance is attached to them in the Scriptures.
Wishes are a sort of porch or doorway to actions. In the Tenth
Commandment we are forbidden to _wish_ for what belongs to our
neighbour;--for who is so likely to break the Eighth Commandment, and
steal, as the man who breaks the Tenth, and wishes for any thing that
is not his?
And so, all the evil in the world begins by _wishing_ something wrong;
and if you can cure yourself of wishing wrongly, you will very seldom
_do_ wrong.
Now you see, I am sure, how important wishes are for evil; but they
are equally strong for good. For, if you wish well to any one, you
have opened the first door to doing him a kindness. And if you
heartily wish to be good, you have opened the first gate on the road
of becoming so. Of course, wishes will not do every thing; but they do
a great deal.
And there is another thing. They never fall to the ground unnoticed.
Though you and I cannot look into each other's hearts, or hear the
wishes breathed there, there is One who hears them all. Good wishes,
my dear children, all ascend upwards to the throne of Grace, like
sweet perfume. They are all accepted and remembered; and, I fear I
must add, that bad wishes go up too, and are noted in His book who
takes account of all we do.
Be sure, therefore, that you encourage your hearts in a habit of good,
and kind, and charitable wishes; and if ever the bad ones come into
your head, pray against them, and drive them away.
Meanwhile do not be surprized that in Fairy tales, Fairies are
supposed to hear wishes concerning themselves. And so Eudora heard
those about her coming and curing the child of his folly; and as I
have told you, she was very indignant at the selfishness of both Lady
Madeline and her husband.
A few days after the family had taken up their residence in the Sea
Castle, the weather began to improve; and, though the wind lasted, the
sun came out; and all the children and the nurses went walking on the
sands. As it was the first time that year, you may guess what shouting
and delight there was; how the little spades dug away at holes for the
sea-water to come up in, and how the children caught at the sea-weeds
that were scattered on the lands to carry home to their Mamma; how
they picked up shells, and gambolled about in all directions,
declaring that they had never known the Sea Castle Home so delightful
before. By degrees they had strayed to a considerable distance along
the sands, with the nurses, when, alas! the latter perceived that a
storm was coming on, and it caught them long before they reached home.
A strong wind blew off the sea, and they had difficulty in keeping
their feet, and at last two or three of the children were almost
hidden in a cloud of sand, which a violent gust suddenly drove against
them. All the little party cried lustily, because the sand had blown
into their eyes, and made them smart, and sad work there was in
getting them home again. But they reached home at last, dripping with
wet from hailstones, and their eyes all red and disfigured by the sand
and wind. None, however, were so bad as those I have mentioned, who
had been so covered over by the sand that it had even got down their
necks, and made them uncomfortable all over. Among these was Roderick,
who cried a great deal more than he ought to have done, as the nurses
thought, and did not stop and declare himself comfortable as the rest
did, after the sand had been washed out of his eyes with rose water.
In fact he kept crying more or less all the afternoon, saying his eyes
hurt him so, and at last he could get no relief but by holding them
shut.
Now it is just possible you may have heard of a complaint of the eyes
called Ophthalmia, which comes on sometimes in very hot countries,
India for instance; and sometimes in travelling across the deserts of
Arabia, where the sand gets into the eyes, and irritates them very
much; it can very often be cured, but not always, and when it cannot,
it ends in blindness. Lady Madeline knew all about the complaint; and,
therefore, you will not be surprised to hear that when she found her
little boy's eyes did not get better, and that he persisted in keeping
them shut, because they then became easy, she thought it right to send
to some miles' distance for a doctor, who accordingly arrived at the
Sea Castle before nightfall. But when he came he shook his head very
much, for he could not understand what was the matter; and when he
persuaded Roderick to lift up his eyelids, to let him see his eyes, he
could perceive nothing amiss but a little redness, which the wind and
sand quite accounted for. Still the child was uneasy, and would keep
his eyes shut; so the Doctor thought he must try something, and he
used some lotions common in such cases; but, as they did no good, the
kind old gentleman, at Madeline's request, consented to sit by the
little boy's bedside at night; when, all at once, as he was carefully
dabbing his eyes with rosewater, he perceived that the child was fast
asleep.
The Doctor was delighted, and went to his mother, who was then with
her husband, and said that as Roderick had gone to sleep so nicely, he
had no doubt that his eyes would be well when he awoke in the morning,
and so he took his leave, for he had other patients to visit.
It was then between twelve and one o'clock, and Lady Madeline, much
comforted in heart, went to bed. At an early hour next morning,
however, she went to Roderick's bedside, and perceived he was just
waking.
To the question of "How are you, my darling?" his cheerful joyous
voice made answer, "Oh, quite well, Mamma, and I've such a funny dream
to tell you, and my eyes don't hurt me a bit, not a bit! but I'm
afraid to open them for fear they should. I can tell you something so
funny the Doctor said last night, Mamma." "Never mind about the
doctor, you rogue," cried Madeline, "I see you are all right, only
just open your dear old eyes, that I may tell Papa I have seen them
when I go back to dress."
"Then I will, Mamma, to please you!" and up sat the pretty child in
his bed, and opened wide his blue eyes. There was no redness--it was
all gone--but
"Mamma! where are you," cried Roderick, "I have opened my eyes, and
they don't hurt--but it is quite dark: _isn't the night over_?..."
Oh, my dear readers! there was a stream of sunshine on the lovely face
and bright hair of little Roderick as he spoke, and the poor blue eyes
were turned up to his mother, looking vainly for her face. You cannot
wonder if I add that she sank down fainting on the bed; and when
Roderick's scream of terror brought the nurses to them, she was
carried away insensible from the room.
Her darling was utterly blind.
* * * * *
And now imagine to yourselves how the afflicted parents sent for the
best doctors the country afforded, and how one thing after another was
tried--but, alas! every thing in vain, for the medical men were all
quite puzzled. Still some people gave them hopes, and in spite of many
disappointments, they went on trying to hope for several months. At
last they settled to leave the sea castle and go to the great town
sooner than usual, thinking some of the doctors there might be
cleverer than the country ones. But they had no better success.
Perhaps now you would like to know how Roderick behaved. When his
Mamma fell on his bed, at first he thought she was dead, and it was
with the greatest difficulty he could be made to believe any thing
else, and he cried, and cried, and was very sad till his Mamma was
well enough for him to be taken to her, and then do you know, poor
fellow, he was so much pleased to hear her speak, and be kissed by
her, that he still had no time to think about himself. Only he begged
to sit close to her, and have hold either of her hand or gown, and
make her say something to him every now and then. And so it was that
the fright and shock he had had about thinking she was dead, had made
so strong an impression on him that for several days the making
himself sure she was alive was a constant occupation and interest; and
so much did he think about it that it was considered best for his
little bed to be brought into the room where his Mamma slept, and put
near hers, so that he could talk to her when he awoke and got
frightened about her again. And thus passed many days in which every
body thought a great deal more about his eyes than he did himself.
Besides from the cheerful things they said to him he quite expected to
be better some day; and so weeks and months passed, and by the time
the hope of recovering his sight began to fade away, and nobody any
longer dared to say they expected it, he was beginning to get used to
his condition, and to find out amusements in new ways. Thus mercifully
does a kind Providence temper people's minds to the afflictions He
sends. They are often more dreadful to think of than to bear; for God
can give patience and cheerfulness and comfort to those that do not
grumble and repine.
Madeline only exacted one promise from her husband, namely, that he
would not allow the doctors to use any very severe and violent
measures with her little boy, and this being settled, she struggled to
bear the trouble with resignation. After the first alternations of
hopes and fears were over, the Mother's mind took a new turn. "It is
our chief duty now," she said, "to make our child's life as happy as
it is possible to be with blindness, and therefore," added she to the
elder children, "we must try our best to teach him to do all the nice
things he can without seeing." That day she asked him to come and hold
worsted for her to wind, and he was quite delighted to find that with
some blunders, and once or twice slipping it off his fingers, he could
manage it very well. Then the children undertook to teach him how to
play at ball, and you cannot think how clever he became. At first
certainly they had always to pick up his ball for him when it fell,
and who was not glad to do it for poor brother Roderick? but by
degrees he could judge by the sound in what direction it had tumbled,
and he would often succeed in finding it before any one could come up
to it. Then there was laughing and scrambling without end. Reading
aloud to him was the easiest thing of all, but the little folks were
not satisfied with that alone. They made a sort of pet of the blind
brother, and were as proud of teaching him to do any thing fresh, as
you would be of teaching your dog to sit up and shake hands, or
perform any wonderful feat. It was their constant amusement; and by
degrees Roderick could play at all sorts of games with them, ay, and
run after them, and catch them too as well as you could do, for he
soon got to remember how the furniture in the great hall and all the
rooms stood, and he could run about without hurting himself in a
wonderful manner. And when it was evening and grew dark, he got on
better than they did, for, if they couldn't see, they were clumsy,
whereas he was learning to do without seeing at all.
Such of my readers as have seen one of those excellent institutions
called "blind schools," will not wonder at any thing I have said, but
on the contrary, will know that I have not told half or a quarter of
what may be done to teach blind children a variety of employments. At
those schools you may see children making beautiful baskets of
various-coloured strips of osier arranged in patterns; and they never
forget on which side of them the different colours are laid, and this
work they can go on with quite fast, even while you stand talking to
them--and they learn to do many many other nice things also besides
basket making.