Fairy Book by Sophie May (the reading list .TXT) 📕

But to the end of his days, when he heard mention of fairies and brownies, his mind wandered off in a mizmaze. He died in peace, and was buried on the banks of the Yarrow.

Once upon a time, the new moon was shining like a silver bow in the heavens, and the stars glittered and trembled as if they were afraid.

“What frightens you?” said the placid Moon; “be calm, like me.”

“I am freezing,” answered the North Star; “that is why I shake.”

“We are dancing,” said the Seven Sisters; “and, watch as closely as you please, you can never get a fair peep at our golden sandals, our feet twinkle so.”

“I am sleepy,” grumbled the Great Bear; “I am trying to keep my eyes open. Perhaps that is the reason I wink so much.”

Thus, with one accord, they made excuses to the pale Moon, who is their guardian,—all but the sweet Vesper Star: she was silent; and when a white cloud floated by, she was glad of an excuse to hide her face.

“Let the North Star shiver, and the Seven Sisters dance, and all the golden stars hold a revel,” thought she; “as for me, I am sad.”

For you must know that the Vesper Star has a task to perform, and is not allowed to sleep. She keeps vigil over the Earth, by night; and never ceases her watch till the world is up in the morning. For the sick and sad, who cannot sleep, she feels an unutterable pity, so that her heart is always throbbing with sorrow.

The Moon looked at the Vesper Star, and said, “Dream on, sweet sister; for you, the noblest of all, have told me no falsehood.”

This the Moon said because she knew that none of the stars had given a true reason for twinkling so gayly that night. The truth was, they were filled with envy, and were trying to be as brilliant as possible, to compete with a flaming Comet which had just appeared in the sky.

It is not for man to know how long and how peacefully the gentle stars had travelled together, doing the work which God has appointed, without a murmur. But now that this distinguished stranger had arrived, the whole firmament was in dismay. How proudly he strode the heavens! how his blaze illumined the sky! The Stars whispered one to another, and cast angry eyes on the shining wonder.

“Make way for me,” he said, sweeping after him a glorious train of light.

“Not I,” muttered the fiery Mars.

“Not I,” quoth the majestic Jupiter; “I do not move an inch.”

The Comet flashed with a lofty disdain.

“Puny Stars,” said he, “keep your places, give out all your light,—nobody heeds you; the place of honor is always by the Vesper Star; here I make my throne.”

The Vesper Star smiled sadly, but without a twinge of envy.

“Welcome, shining one! Warm me with your fires; let us work together.”

“Work!” cried the Comet, throwing out sparkles of scorn; “I was not born to work, but to shine!”

“Indeed!” said the Vesper Star; “you have come into strange company, then; for here we all work with a good will.” “He does not burn with the true fire,” thought the good Star; and she wrapped herself about with a soft cloud, and said no more.

“Oh that I could be set on fire like the Comet!” thought the cold North Star. “I would gladly burn to death if I could astonish the world with my blaze!”

“Let us die!” said the Seven Sisters; “let us die together; we have ceased to be noticed.”

“Ah, hum!” growled the Great Bear; “so many years as I have kept watch in this sky; and now to be set one side by this upstart of a foreigner! I’ve a great mind to go to sleep and never wake up!”

“Hush!” whispered the Vesper Star gently; “do your duty, and trust God for the rest.”

And lo! that very night there was an end of the Comet’s splendor.

“Adieu, my dull friends,” said he; “I am tired of a quiet life: a little more, and I should fade out entirely!”

Then, with a blaze and a whiz, and a dizzy wheel, he flashed out of the sky; and no one knew whither he went, or whence he came, any more than the path of the quick lightning.

The stars were ashamed of their envy, and went to their old work with a stronger will and a steadier purpose: but to the Vesper Star was given a brighter and sweeter light than to any other, because she had done her work without envy and without repining.

Once there lived under the earth a race of fairies called gnomes. They were strange little beings, with dull eyes and harsh voices; but they did no harm, and lived in peace.

They never saw the sun; but they had lamps much brighter than our gaslight, which burned night and day, year after year.

They had music; but it was the tinkling of silver bells and golden harps,—not half so sweet as the singing of birds and the babbling of brooks.

Flowers they had none, but plenty of gems,—“the stars of earth.” There were green trees in the kingdom: but the leaves were hard emeralds; and the fruit, apples of gold or cherries of ruby; and these precious gems the gnomes ground to powder, and swallowed with much satisfaction.

They heaped up piles of gold and diamonds as high as your head; and never was there a gnome so poor as to build a house of any thing a whit coarser than jasper or onyx. You would have believed yourself dreaming, if you could have walked through the streets of their cities. They were paved with rosy almandine and snowy alabaster; and the palaces glittered in the gay lamplight like a million stars.

These gnomes led, for the most part, rather dull lives. Like their cousins, the water-sprites, or undines, they were roguish and shrewd, but had no higher views of life than our katydids and crickets. Indeed, they hardly cared for any thing but frisking about, eating and sleeping. But, after all, what can be expected of creatures without souls? One sees, now and then, stupid human beings, whose eyes have no thoughts in them, and whose souls seem to be sound asleep. Such lumps of dulness might almost as well be gnomes, and slip into the earth and have done with it.

These underground folk had a great horror of our world. They knew all about it; for one of them had peeped out and taken a bird’s-eye view. He went up very bravely, but hurried back with such strange accounts, that his friends considered him a little insane.

“Listen!” said the gnome, whose name was Clod. “The earth has a soft carpet, of a new kind of emerald; overhead is a blue roof, made of turquoise; but I am told that there is a crack in it, and sometimes water comes pouring down in torrents. But the worst plague of all is a great glaring eye-ball of fire, which mortals call the sun.”

When Clod told his stories of the earth, he always ended by saying,—

“Believe me, it is bad luck to have the sun shine on you. It nearly put my eyes out; and I have had the headache ever since.”

Now, there was a young girl, named Moneta, who listened very eagerly to the old gnome’s stories of the earth, and thought she would like to see it for herself. She was a kind little maiden, as playful as a kitten; and her friends were not willing she should go. But Moneta had somewhere heard that fairies who marry mortals receive the gift of a human soul: so, in spite of all objections, she was resolved to take the journey; for she had in her dark mind some vague aspirations after a higher state of being.

Then the gnome-family declared, that, if she once went away, they would never allow her to return; for they highly disapproved of running backward and forward between the two worlds, gossiping.

“Have you no love of country,” cried they, “that you would willingly cast your lot among silly creatures who look down upon your race?”

The old gnome, who had travelled, took the romantic maiden one side, and said,—

“My dear Moneta, since you will go, I must tell you a secret; for you remember I have seen the world, and know all about it. Mortals are a higher race than ourselves, it is true; but that is only because they live atop o’ the earth, while we are under their feet. They make a great parade about their little ticking jewel they call Conscience; but, after all, they will any of them sell it for one of our ear-rings! I assure you they love money better than their own souls; and I would advise you, as a friend that has seen the world, to load yourself with as much gold as you can carry.”

So Moneta donned a heavy dress of spun gold, which was woven in such a manner, that, at every motion she made, it let fall a shower of gold-dust. She filled the sleeves with sardonyx, almandine, and amethyst; and hid in her bosom diamonds and sapphires enough to purchase a kingdom.

Then she went up a steep ladder, and knocked on the alabaster ceiling, using the charm which the gnome had given her:—

“Mother Earth, Mother Earth, set me free!”

At her words there was a sound as of an earthquake, and a little space was made, just large enough for her to crawl through. When she had reached the top, the earth closed again, and she was left seated upon a rock; and the light of the sun was so dazzling, that she hid her face in her hands.

Thus she sat for a long time, not knowing whither to go, till a young man chanced to come that way, who said, “What do you here?”

She raised her face at his words, and could not speak, so great was her surprise at the beauty of the strange youth. He, for his part, could not help smiling; for she was as yellow as an orange; and an uglier little creature he had never beheld: but he said in a kind voice,—

“Come with me to my mother’s house, and you shall be refreshed with cake and wine.”

She arose to follow him; and, as she walked, a bright shower of gold-dust sprinkled the earth at every step.

The young man held out his hands eagerly to catch the shining spray, thinking he would like such a rarely-gifted damsel for his wife; and, in truth, he smiled so sweetly, and dropped such winning words, that in time he won her heart and she became his bride.