suited very well in this respect, that astheir heads were full of other things they neither claimed norrequired from each other a great amount of affection.
Still, was Julia happy? The Fairies shook their heads. She hadgardens, hot-houses, magnificent collections of curiosities, treasuresthat might have softened and opened her heart, if she had made a rightuse of them. But riches have a very hardening tendency, and she neverstruggled against it.
Then, too, she could get every thing she wanted so easily, that shecared very little about anything. Life becomes very stale when yourhands are full and you have nothing to ask for.
Her greatest pleasure was to create astonishment and envy among herassociates: but, besides the naughtiness of the feeling, this is atriumph of very short duration; for most people, when they cannot getat what they envy, amuse themselves with something else; and then,what a mortification to see them do this!
"Besides," said the Fairies, "we must follow her into her solitude, tosee if she is happy."
Ah! there, lying back once more in the easy chair, in a dress which--
"China's gayest art had dyed,"
do you think that self-satisfied, but still uncheerful looking facetells of happiness?
No! She too, like Aurora, was unoccupied, and forecasting intofuturity for the "good time coming," which so many spend their livesin craving after and expecting, but which the proud, the selfish andthe idle never reach to.
The Fairies turned from her sorrowful and angry.
* * * * *
In the outskirts of a forest, just where its intricacy had broken awayinto picturesque openings, leaving visible some strange old trees withknotted trunks and mysteriously twisted branches, sat a young girlsketching. She was intently engaged, but as her eyes were ever andanon raised from her paper to the opening glade, and one of the oldtrees, the Fairies had no difficulty in recognizing their protegee,Hermione. The laughing face of childhood had become sobered andrefined by sentiment and strength, but contentment and even enjoymentbeamed in her eyes as she thoughtfully and earnestly pursued herbeautiful art. The little beings who hovered around her in that sweetspot, almost forgot they were not in Fairy land; the air was so fullof sweet odours from ferns and mosses, and the many other deliciousscents you find so constantly in woods.
Besides which, it amused the good souls to watch Hermione's skilfulhand tracing the scene before her; and they felt an admiring delightwhen they saw the old tree of the forest reappear on the paper, withall the shadows and lights the sun just then threw upon it, and theywondered not a little at the skill with which she gave distance andperspective to the glade beyond. They felt, too, that though thedrawing they saw rising under the sketcher's hand was not madepowerful by brilliant effects or striking contrasts, it wasnevertheless overflowing with the truth and sentiment of nature. Itwas the impression of the scene itself, viewed through the poetry ofthe artist's mind; and as the delicate creatures who hung over thepicture, looked at it, they almost longed for it, slight as it was,that they might carry it away, and hang it up in their fairy palace asa faithful representation of one of the loveliest spots of earth, theoutskirts of an ancient English forest.
It is impossible to say how long they might not have staid watchingHermione, but that after a time the sketch was finished, and the younglady after writing beneath it Schiller's well known line inWallenstein, arose. "Das ist das Loos des Schoenen auf der Erde."[1]
[1] "Such is the lot of the beautiful upon earth."
The poor tree was marked for felling! Ambrosia was almost affected totears, once more. The scene was so beautiful, and the allusion sotouching, and there seemed to her such a charm over her God-daughterHermione; she was herself so glad, too, to feel sure that success hadcrowned her gift, that, altogether, her Fairy heart grew quite soft."You may do as you like about observing Hermione further," cried she."But, for my part, I am now satisfied. She is enjoying life to theuttermost; all its beauties of sight and sound; its outwardloveliness; its inward mysteries. She will never marry but from love,and one whose heart can sympathise with hers. Ah, Ianthe, what morehas life to give? You will say, she is not beautiful; perhaps not fora marble statue; but the grace of poetical feeling is in her everylook and action. Ah, she will walk by the side of manhood, turningeven the hard realities of life into beauty by that living well-springof sweet thoughts and fancies that I see beaming from her eyes. Lookat her now, Ianthe, and confess that surely that countenance breathesmore beauty than chiselled features can give." And certainly, whethersome mesmeric influence from her enthusiastic Fairy Godmother wasworking on Hermione's brain, or whether her own quotation upon thedoomed tree had stirred up other poetical recollections, I know not;but as she was retracing her steps homewards, she repeated to herselfsoftly but with much pathos, Coleridge's lines:[2]
"O lady, we receive but what we give, And in our life alone does nature live: Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud! And would we aught behold, of higher worth, Than that inanimate cold world allowed To the poor loveless ever anxious crowd, Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud Enveloping the earth-- And from the soul itself must there be sent A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth, Of all sweet sounds the life and element!"
[2] Coleridge's "Dejection: an Ode."
And, turning through the little handgate at the extremity of the wood,she pursued the train of thought with heightened colour in hercheeks--
"I may not hope from outward forms to win The passion and the life, whose fountains are within."
And thus Hermione reached her home, her countenance lighted up by thepleasure of success, and the sweet and healthy musings of her solitarywalk.
She entered the library of a beautiful country house by the low windowthat opened on to the lawn, and found her mother reading.
"I cannot tell you how lovely the day is, Mamma, every thing is sofresh, and the shadows and lights are so good! I have immortalized ourpoor old friend the oak, before they cut him down," added she,smiling, as she placed the drawing in her mother's hands. "I wish theforest belonged to some one who had not this cruel taste for turningknotted oak trees into fancy work-tables. It is as bad as what CharlesLamb said of the firs, 'which look so romantic alive, and die intodesks.'--Die into desks!" repeated Hermione musingly, as she seatedherself on the sofa, and took up a book that was before her on thetable; mechanically removing her bonnet from her head, and laying itdown by her side as she spoke.
And here for some time there was a silence, during which Hermione'smother ceased reading, and, lifting up her eyes, looked at herdaughter with mingled love, admiration, and interest. "I wish I hadher picture so," dreamt the poor lady, as she gazed; "so earnest, andunderstanding, and yet so simple, and kind!--There is but onedifficulty for her in life," was the next thought; "with such keenenjoyment of this world, such appreciation of the beauties, andwonders, and delights of God's creations on earth--to keep the eye offaith firmly fixed on the 'better and more enduring inheritance,' towhich both she and I, but I trust she, far behind, are hastening. Yet,by God's blessing, and with Christian training, and the habit ofactive 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 herethe no longer young Mother of Hermione fell into a reverie, and a longpause ensued, during which Ambrosia felt very sad, for it grieved herto think that the good and reasonable Mother should be so much afraidof Fairy gifts, even when the result had been so favourable.
A note at length interrupted the prolonged silence. It was from Aurorathe Beauty, whose Father possessed a large estate in theneighbourhood, and who had just then come into the country for a fewweeks. Aurora earnestly requested Hermione and her Mother to visither.
"I will do as you wish," said Hermione, looking rather grave; "butreally a visit to Aurora is a sort of small misfortune."
"I hope you are no
t envious of her beauty, Hermione? Take care."
"Nay, you are cruel, Mamma, now. I should like to be handsome, but notat the expense of being so very dull in spirits as poor Aurora oftenis. But really, unless you have ever spent an hour alone with her, youcan 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 justput into my head how I may escape from being tired, even if I am leftalone with her for hours!"
"Nay, now you really puzzle me, my dear; I suggested nothing butlooking at her face."
"Ah, but as she is really and truly such a model of beauty, what doyou think of offering to make a likeness of her, Mamma? It willdelight her to sit and be looked at, even by me, in the country,