“He would be very fretful, I suppose,” said Edward; “I’m afraid I should be.”
“Yes,” said his father; “but now, when he has learned to give up entirely to the will of his heavenly Father, see how he seems to enjoy his flowers, and his hymn book, and his few little playthings. He enjoys them more than James Robertson enjoys all his elegant things. Now, my dear boys, remember this: The way to be happy is to have a right heart, and not to have every thing given to us that we want.”
LEAVES FROM THE LIFE OF A FAIRY.
The two following stories are by a friend of the author’s.
MY DEAR YOUNG FRIEND: As I am going to give you some account of my life, I will begin at the beginning, and tell you how fairies come into existence. You must know, then, that if at midnight a drop of dew falls exactly in the middle of a flower, and if nothing happens to disturb it, it will absorb the fragrance and essence of the flower, and in the morning the first ray of light will change it into a fairy.
I It was a beautiful May morning, when first opened my eyes, and found myself standing in a sweet-scented violet in a garden on Walnut Hills, a village in the north of England.
My dear sister Lillian, who had been appointed by our queen to watch for me, kindly helped me to unfold my wings, and offered me a drop of nectar; after which she conducted me to the palace of our queen, which I will describe to you another time.
The queen, who is the most lovely and beautiful fairy in the world, welcomed me with a sweet smile, and said, “We receive you into our company, my dear Viola, and hope you will be very happy in the society of your sisters, and will, like them, do much good wherever you go. You cannot be too thankful that you belong to a race of benevolent fairies, and not to those mischievous ones who spend all their time in plaguing and tormenting poor mortals.”
She then gave me a pencil of sunbeams, a small vial of essence of health, a tiny air pillow, and a mantle, which she told me would render me invisible to all except infants and very young children. “And now, my dear Viola,” said the queen, “I will leave you with your sister fairies. Take good care of the present which you have received. Lillie will tell you how to use them. Once in seven days we meet on the floating island, when each fairy must give an account of what she has done since our last meeting.”
After the queen left us, Lillie told me that every fairy made it the object of her life to do good to mortals, and that many took for their particular charge the child of some poor woman, who, on account of care and poverty, could not herself pay proper attention to it. I thought that I should like that very much; and as every fairy is allowed to have one chosen friend, to be always with her, Lillie and I took our invisible mantles and flew away together in search of some poor child who might need our care.
In a little white cottage, in the village of R, we found a poor, sickly baby, of four months old, lying in its cradle alone. Its mother had gone out to wash, and was obliged to leave her poor baby with her daughter Mary, a child of ten years of age, who, though she loved her little sister Emily, loved play still more, and was at that moment sailing chip boats in a pool of water at some distance from the house, at the same time quieting her conscience by thinking that perhaps the baby was asleep, or, at any rate, if it cried very loud, she could hear it, and would run home immediately.
The poor baby’s pale face was wet with tears when we found it, and it looked so helpless and forlorn that we immediately adopted it as our favorite. We dried its tears with our wings, danced and sang to amuse it, dropped fairy sugar in its mouth, and did not leave it until it was comfortably asleep, when, painting on its eyelids beautiful pictures, which we knew would insure pleasant dreams, we left it for a short time, and flew away to carry food to a poor little bird which had been shot in the wing by a cruel boy.
When Lillie and I returned, we found little Emily just waking up, and her mother, who had returned home, was preparing some milk for her, into which I dropped some of my essence, which not only improved the taste of the milk, but also added very much to its strengthening qualities; so that when Emily had taken it twice a day for two weeks, she began to grow quite fat and rosy, to the surprise of the neighbors, who had often prophesied that “Mrs. W. would never raise that child.”
Mrs. W. herself wondered what made the child’s eyes look so very bright sometimes, and what made her so much quieter and happier than she used to be. “Why, bless the child,” said she, “she will lie awake in the cradle and talk to herself an hour at a time, and it ‘pears Mice she was looking at something, I don’t know what; and then she will commence singing like, in her baby fashion, and fairly get herself to sleep, without being rocked a bit; she is getting a great fashion, too, of looking at her hands, and gooing and gaing at them, and she is getting so strong that she can set up all alone by herself; and Mary says that sometimes, when I am gone later than usual, she will begin to fret a little, and then, all at once, she will begin sucking her thumb, and be as quiet as a lamb until I come home; and now, this minute, do see how she is smiling in her sleep. I used to think that was a sign of colic; but now—”
“And is it the colic you mane?” said a kind-hearted Irish woman; “and sure yourself may be asy about that same. Never a bit of colic is it, but the good angels are whispering to the swate darlint. An’ sure it’s the troth that I say, for myself heard the good praste say that same.”
They all smiled at what they considered Irish superstition, and another neighbor said, —
“Well, Mrs. W., I am very glad the child is doing so well. I expect a turn of good luck for you; for I said to my Mary on Monday, — no, Tuesday — no, Monday, it was, — the day that my fork fell and stuck straight up in the floor; said I, ‘Now, Mary, Mrs. W. will have a turn of good luck, I know, for there she goes with her apron wrong side out, and it is after twelve o’clock, and last night she saw the moon over her right shoulder, and, best of all, my old man showed it to her, and that is a sure sign of good luck.’”
Poor, ignorant mortals, they never once dreamed who it was that played with the child, and covered her little fingers with fairy rings, set with brilliants, and painted pictures of gay birds and flowers on her hands, and covered her thumb with the purest fairy sugar, and played a thousand tricks to amuse her; but I hear the silver bells of our dear queen, and must stop writing for the present and hasten to her.
Little Emily continued to grow and thrive under our care, so that when she was a year old, she was as lovely a child as I ever saw. Her eyes were bright and blue as my native flower, and her hair, which Lillie and I curled every day when she was asleep, hung in shining ringlets around her sweet face and neck. We taught her to keep herself neat and clean by hiding ourselves and taking away her rings and pictures whenever she soiled her hands or dress, and the moment she was washed we appeared again; so that she very soon learned to be neat and careful, and whenever she got a spot on her dress, or her little white hands, she would hold them up and say, “Wass, wass,” so earnestly, that her mother or sister would always attend to her. She was called the little lady, on account of her neatness, and was very much loved and admired. About this time she began to walk alone; and now Lillie and I were busier than ever. We kept our little air pillow constantly with us, and whenever she fell we threw it between her head but we kept our little pet well supplied. Mary tied up a little bundle of rags, and Lillie painted it, and made it appear to little Emily as beautiful as the most costly wax doll. If she got a little chip with a twine string tied to it, we made it look like a gayly painted carriage. We colored and embellished every thing that she had to play with, and made her baby life almost one continued stream of sunshine. But I do not wish you to think that we spent all our time in taking care of one child; we played with the humming birds and butterflies, danced by moonlight with our sister fairies, and did many good offices for people, beasts, birds, and insects. One hot day in August, we found a poor, tired traveller in the dusty road. We sang like a thrush, and thus drew his attention to a little grove near
by, where was a mossy bank and a spring of the clearest and coolest of water. As he drank of the water, we dropped into his cup a little of our essence, and fanned him with our wings. “O, what a good little breeze!” said he, as he threw himself down on the bank of moss, and was soon in a refreshing sleep. We then painted on his eyelids an exact representation of our queen’s palace and garden, and left him to enjoy his dream.
The next morning we were surprised and delighted, on visiting Emily, to find that our traveller was Mrs. W.’s only son, who had just got through his apprenticeship in a distant city, and had come home to work for and comfort his mother and little sisters. He was sitting with Emily on his knee, looking with pride and affection at her bright eyes and beautiful curls, and telling a very curious dream to his mother and Mary, who were listening with great attention. He was just finishing his dream; but as I know it a little better than he did, I will tell it to you, and you will then know how the beautiful Fairy Queen lives.
THE DREAM.
I was lying down to rest on a green bank, when suddenly the ground beneath me seemed to give way, and I fell down, down so far that my head grew dizzy, and I gave up all hope; when suddenly I found myself in a beautiful grove. The trees and grass were of the most lovely green I ever saw, and many of the trees were covered with fruit and flowers of the most brilliant colors. Birds of gay plumage filled the air with their music, and the perfume of the flowers was delightful. I wandered about until I came to a small lake as clear as crystal; the bottom of the lake was covered with beautiful shells and precious stones; thousands of little boats made of pearl and lined with rose leaves were sailing about, and in each boat was a bright little fairy.
Near the middle of the lake was a floating island which seemed to be coming towards me, and grew more and more lovely the more I examined it. It seemed to be composed entirely of moss and flowers, and shaded by the most delicate little trees, in exact imitation of the larger trees which I described. The smallest of humming birds and butterflies kept the trees and flowers in continual motion. Exactly in the centre of this island stood a small circular palace; it was white as the purest alabaster, delicate as the rose leaf, and so transparent that I could see distinctly all that was going on inside. The roof of the palace was in the form of an inverted lily, the petals of which were bordered with rubies and emeralds, and all kinds of precious stones. The roof was supported by pillars of pearl, around which were twined never-fading roses, about as large as a small forget-me-not, the tiny green vines and rich crimson roses contrasting beautifully with the snowy whiteness of the palace. The queen was the most elegant little creature that you can imagine; every look, word, and action was perfect grace and beauty. She seemed to be very busy with her attendants in arranging and weaving a number of little crowns and garlands, by which I supposed they were preparing for some festival. While I stood wondering and admiring, I heard the sound of a little silver bell, and immediately every little boat was brought up to the island, and the fairies all gathered around their queen, (who was seated on a throne in front of her palace,) and each fairy in turn told where she had been and what she had done since their last meeting.
The queen then made a speech, in which she told them how happy she was to find that they had been so diligent and kind, so self-denying, and so careful of the happiness of others. “Continue, my beloved ones,” she said, “to be thus pure and good; mingle with mortals, and do all you can for them, but keep yourselves free from their sins and follies; for if one shade of envy, jealousy, or any evil passion, should come into our domain, it would destroy our happiness forever.” She then gave to each of them a little crown or garland of myrtle and rose buds, and they were preparing to dance, when, forgetting myself, I made a slight movement, and immediately the island, palace, fairies, all were gone, and I awoke and found myself three miles from home, and the sun going down. I felt quite rested and refreshed, and shall always remember my pleasant dream.
Mrs. W. was much surprised and pleased with her son’s dream, and said that it sounded almost like reading; that he always was a lucky boy, and she had no doubt but his dream was a good one; that she should not wonder if he found work and good wages that very day, for she always heard that it was a good sign to dream about fairies. He did very soon find work, for he was well known to be an honest and diligent young man, and things soon began to be more pleasant and comfortable at the cottage. The little garden was planted and kept in order, a cow bought, and Mrs. W. only went out to wash once a week. Mary was sent to school, and new clothes were provided for the whole family. When Emily was about three years of age, she one day found two or three leaves of Mary’s old Primer, and I painted the letters, and made them look so pretty that she was quite delighted with them, and began at once to learn their names. Lillie and I had learned to read English by attending little children at school, and we found no difficulty in teaching Emily. As she grew older and more earthly, we began to fade from her sight, but we still with our pencils color and brighten all that she came in contact with, and put kind and pleasant thoughts into her mind. We taught her to be obedient and diligent, to be kind to animals, and whenever she did a good action we felt repaid for all our care of her. When she was four years of age, her brother was very much surprised one day to find her reading a book which he had just left, and still more surprised to find that nobody knew how she had learned to read. Mary said she remembered that, some time ago, Emmy got hold of her old Primer, and asked her the names of some of the letters, but she never thought any more about it. Mrs. W. said she had seen the child often playing with a book, as she supposed, but never thought of her learning to read; and when Emily was asked who taught her, she raised her dark eyes with a look of wonder at being asked such a question, and said, “Pretty book.”
Things went on very quietly in the village until Emily was six years of age, when some ladies from London, who were spending the summer in the country, established a Sunday school. Mary and Emily both attended, and here they learned better things than the best of fairies could teach them.
They heard and read about the great Creator and Saviour of the human race, and of the home which he has prepared for all who love him, compared with which Fairyland is as a spot on the sun.
Emily, who was still the pet and the pride of the family, would sit whole evenings between her mother and brother George, repeating hymns and verses which her teacher had taught her, or reading to them in her little Testament, until the things of this world seemed to fade from their sight, and heaven and eternity alone seemed worth living for. They passed two happy years in this manner, until Emily was eight years old, when, without any visible cause, she began to fade and waste away. Every month she grew weaker, although George got the best physician that could be found to attend upon her, and every thing that could be thought of was done for her, but all in vain. “I am going home, dear mother,” she said; “I am going to be with the dear Saviour, who loves little children so much, and I shall then be a good child, mother — always good — and never even think a wrong thought. But I shall not forget you; I shall always love you, and Mary, and brother George, and soon you will all come, and we will be happy together.
It was beautiful now to see the kindness and affection which this poor family showed to each other in their affliction; how George, after working hard all day, would go a mile out of his way to get an orange for his little sister; how tenderly he would take her in his arms, and carry her about the room to relieve the weariness and nervousness caused by her lying so long on her little bed; how quietly and thoughtfully the once careless Mary would do and remember all the little things that her mother, in her anxiety and grief, had forgotten; and, in short, how they all seemed to forget, themselves, and live only to comfort and help each other.
Emily died as she had lived, gently and happily. The sun was just setting; her Sabbath school teacher, with her friends standing round her bed, longing to do something, and yet unable to help or relieve her.
“Emily, my darl
ing,” said her mother, “what can I do for you?”
“Nothing, dear mother,” whispered the dying child; “the Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. Yea, though I walk through the valley—”
She could say no more; her eyes grew brighter and brighter, and with a smile which made her face look like the face of an angel, she left us, and was with the Saviour whom she loved.
O for a human soul! To feel for one hour such love as lighted up that pale face, would outweigh all the pleasures of Fairyland. Emily will live forever and ever, pure and holy. I shall live and be happy, perhaps for thousands of years, and then sleep never to wake again. My happiness and usefulness will come to an end. Hers, never.
Lillian and I have taken care of a great many little children, but we never found one that we loved so well as little Emily. We took seeds from our favorite flowers, and planted them on her grave, and the next summer her friends were pleased and surprised to find violets and lilies of the valley in full bloom; and even now, Mary, who is a good and respectable woman, and has a home and a little Emily of her own, has just returned from weeding and watering the fairy flowers.
Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe Page 511