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diff --git a/835-h/835-h.htm b/835-h/835-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..879aa35 --- /dev/null +++ b/835-h/835-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2535 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Grey Brethren, by Michael Fairless</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .5em; + text-decoration: none;} + span.red { color: red; } + body {background-color: #ffffc0; } + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Grey Brethren, by Michael Fairless, +Edited by Mary Emily Dowson + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: The Grey Brethren + and other Fragments in Prose and Verse + + +Author: Michael Fairless + +Editor: Mary Emily Dowson + +Release Date: August 4, 2019 [eBook #835] +[This file was first posted on March 2, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREY BRETHREN*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1911 Duckworth and Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/cover.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" + src="images/cover.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>The Grey Brethren</h1> +<p style="text-align: center">And Other Fragments in Prose<br /> +and Verse</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">By</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><b>Michael Fairless</b></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">Author +of</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">‘The Roadmender’</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic" +title= +"Decorative graphic" + src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">London</span><br /> +<b>Duckworth and Co.</b><br /> +3 Henrietta Street, W.C.<br /> +1911</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall"><i>Third +Impression</i></span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall"><i>All +rights reserved</i></span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2><a name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +v</span>Prefatory Note</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is need to ask indulgence for +this little book, because at first sight it seems to possess no +other unity than that of type and cover. The root of its +unity lies deeper, deeper even than any of subject or of method; +it lies in the personal gift, the communication of heart to +heart, which is the secret of charm in all the author’s +work. For this reason its publication is justified.</p> +<p>The papers, poems, and stories it contains have, with two +exceptions, appeared elsewhere, most of them in <a +name="pagevi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. vi</span>‘The +Pilot,’ where the Roadmender found his first welcome and +his literary home.</p> +<p>The fairy-tales were told by word of mouth to one child and +another of widely differing ages; and three of them were +afterwards published in ‘The Parents’ +Review.’ ‘The Grey Brethren’ is from +‘The Commonwealth.’ The Christmas papers and +poems were brought out as a booklet by Messrs Mowbray & +Son.</p> +<p>The author’s characteristic quality is best displayed in +these last, and in ‘The Grey Brethren,’ but there +will be interest for many readers in the rest of the book as +well. That which afterwards became a firm artistic touch is +seen in its uncertain beginning in ‘By Rivers and +Streams’; <a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vii</span>and the delightful headlong humour of ‘The +Dreadful Griffin’ (invented for the “boy named Cecco +Hewlett,” of whom Mr Barrie speaks in his ‘Little +White Bird’) will shew Michael Fairless in a new light to +those who have known her only in her books.</p> +<p>Some of the many readers who have found her there will +understand me when I say that the story of her life and death, +and of her life too (as I believe) after death, is written down +in the little tale of ‘The Tinkle-Tinkle,’ first told +to her best beloved in the wild garden at Kew, among blue +hyacinths and shining grasses of the spring that spoke to her of +Paradise.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">M. E. D.</p> +<h2>Contents</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Prefatory Note</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#pagev">v</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Grey Brethren</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Song of Low Degree</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page13">13</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A German Christmas Eve</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page15">15</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Christmas Idyll</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Manifestation</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page43">43</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">All Souls’ Day in a German +Town</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">By Rivers and Streams</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page55">55</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Spring</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page68">68</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Lark’s Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page72">72</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">‘Luvly Miss’</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page75">75</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>FOUR STORIES TOLD TO CHILDREN</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">The Dreadful +Griffin</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="gutindent"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page85">85</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">The Discontented +Daffodils</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="gutindent"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page103">103</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">The Fairy +Fluffikins</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="gutindent"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page128">128</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p class="gutindent"><span class="smcap">The Story of the +Tinkle-Tinkle</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right" class="gutindent"><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page138">138</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>The Grey +Brethren</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Some</span> of the happiest remembrances +of my childhood are of days spent in a little Quaker colony on a +high hill.</p> +<p>The walk was in itself a preparation, for the hill was long +and steep and at the mercy of the north-east wind; but at the +top, sheltered by a copse and a few tall trees, stood a small +house, reached by a flagged pathway skirting one side of a bright +trim garden.</p> +<p>I, with my seven summers of lonely, delicate childhood, felt, +when I gently closed the gate behind me, that I shut myself into +Peace. The house was always somewhat dark, and there were +no domestic sounds. The two old ladies, sisters, both born +in the last century, sat in the cool, dim parlour, netting or +sewing. Rebecca was small, with a nut-cracker nose and +chin; Mary, tall and dignified, needed no velvet under the net +cap. I can feel now the touch of the cool dove-coloured +silk against my cheek, as I sat on the floor, watching the nimble +fingers with the shuttle, and listened as Mary read aloud a +letter received that morning, describing a meeting of the +faithful and the ‘moving of the Spirit’ among +them. I had a mental picture of the ‘Holy Heavenly +Dove,’ with its wings of silvery grey, hovering over my +dear old ladies; and I doubt not my vision was a true one.</p> +<p>Once as I watched Benjamin, the old gardener—a most +‘stiff-backed Friend’ despite his stoop and his +seventy years—putting scarlet geraniums and yellow +fever-few in the centre bed, I asked, awe-struck, whether such +glowing colours were approved; and Rebecca smiled and +said—“Child, dost thee not think the Lord may have +His glories?” and I looked from the living robe of scarlet +and gold to the dove-coloured gown, and said: “Would it be +pride in thee to wear His glories?” and Mary answered for +her—“The change is not yet; better beseems us the +ornament of a meek and quiet spirit.”</p> +<p>The ‘change from glory to glory’ has come to them +both long since, but it seems to me as if their robes must still +be Quaker-grey.</p> +<p>Upstairs was the invalid daughter and niece. For years +she had been compelled to lie on her face; and in that position +she had done wonderful drawings of the High Priest, the Ark of +the Covenant, and other Levitical figures. She had a +cageful of tame canary-birds which answered to their names and +fed from her plate at meal-times. Of these I remember only +Roger, a gorgeous fellow with a beautiful voice and strong will +of his own, who would occasionally defy his mistress from the +secure fastness of a high picture-frame, but always surrendered +at last, and came to listen to his lecture with drooping +wings.</p> +<p>A city of Peace, this little house, for the same +severely-gentle decorum reigned in the kitchen as elsewhere: and +now, where is such a haunt to be found?</p> +<p>In the earlier part of this century the Friends bore a most +important witness. They were a standing rebuke to rough +manners, rude speech, and to the too often mere outward show of +religion. No one could fail to be impressed by the +atmosphere of peace suggested by their bearing and presence; and +the gentle, sheltered, contemplative lives lived by most of them +undoubtedly made them unusually responsive to spiritual +influence. Now, the young birds have left the parent nest +and the sober plumage and soft speech; they are as other men; and +in a few short years the word Quaker will sound as strange in our +ears as the older appellation Shaker does now.</p> +<p>This year I read for the first time the Journal of George +Fox. It is hard to link the rude, turbulent son of Amos +with the denizens in my city of Peace; but he had his work to do +and did it, letting breezy truths into the stuffy +‘steeple-houses’ of the ‘lumps of +clay.’</p> +<p>“Come out from among them and be ye separate; touch not +the accursed thing!” he thundered; and out they came, +obedient to his stentorian mandate; but alack, how many treasures +in earthen vessels did they overlook in their terror of the +curse! The good people made such haste to flee the city, +that they imagined themselves as having already, in the spirit, +reached the land that is very far off; and so they cast from them +the outward and visible signs which are vehicles, in this +material world, of inward graces. Measureless are the +uncovenanted blessings of God; and to these the Friends have ever +borne a witness of power; but now the Calvinist intruder no +longer divides the sheep from the goats in our churches; now the +doctrine of universal brotherhood and the respect due to all men +are taught much more effectively than when George Fox refused to +doff his hat to the Justice; the quaint old speech has lost its +significance, the dress would imply all the vainglory that the +wearer desires to avoid; the young Quakers of this generation are +no longer ‘disciplined’ in matters of the common +social life; yet still they remain separate.</p> +<p>We of the outward and visible covenant need them, with their +inherited mysticism, ordered contemplation, and spiritual vision; +we need them for ourselves. The mother they have left +yearns for them, and with all her faults—faults the greater +for their absence—and with the blinded eyes of their +recognition, she is their mother still. “<i>What +advantage then hath the Jew</i>?” asked St Paul, and +answered in the same breath—“<i>Much every way</i>, +<i>chiefly because that unto them were committed the oracles of +God</i>.” What advantage then has the Churchman? is +the oft repeated question today; and the answer is still the +answer of St Paul.</p> +<p>The Incarnation is the sum of all the Sacraments, the crown of +the material revelation of God to man, the greatest of outward +and visible signs, “<i>that which we have heard</i>, +<i>which we have seen with our eyes</i>, <i>which we have looked +upon and our hands have handled of the word of +life</i>.” A strange beginning truly, to usher in a +purely spiritual dispensation; but beautifully fulfilled in the +taking up of the earthly into the heavenly—Bread and Wine, +the natural fruits of the earth, sanctified by man’s toil, +a sufficiency for his needs; and instinct with Divine life +through the operation of the Holy Ghost.</p> +<blockquote><p>“<i>In the sweat of thy face thou shalt eat +bread</i>.”</p> +<p>“<i>Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink +His blood ye have no life in you</i>.”</p> +<p>“<i>And the leaves of the tree were for the healing of +the nations</i>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>From Genesis to the Revelation of the Divine reaches the +rainbow of the Sacramental system—outward and visible signs +of inward and spiritual grace:—</p> +<p>The sacrament of purging, purifying labour, to balance and +control the knowledge of good and evil:—</p> +<p>The sacrament of life, divine life, with the outward body of +humiliation, bread and wine, fruit of the accursed ground, but +useless without man’s labour; and St Paul, caught up into +the third heaven, and St John, with his wide-eyed vision of the +Lamb, must eat this bread and drink this cup if they would +live:—</p> +<p>The sacrament of healing, the restoring of the Image of God in +fallen man.</p> +<p>The Church is one society, nay, the world is one society, for +man without his fellow-men is not; and into the society, both of +the Church and the world, are inextricably woven the most social +sacraments.</p> +<p>Herein is great purpose, we say, bending the knee; and with +deep consciousness of sins and shortcomings we stretch out +longing welcoming hands to our grey brethren with their +inheritance of faithfulness and steadfastness under persecution, +and their many gifts and graces; and we cry, in the words of the +Song of Songs which is Solomon’s: “O my dove, that +art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the +stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for +sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.” +“Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For +lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.”</p> +<h2><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>A Song +of Low Degree</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Lord</span>, I am small, +and yet so great,<br /> +The whole world stands to my estate,<br /> +And in Thine Image I create.<br /> +The sea is mine; and the broad sky<br /> +Is mine in its immensity:<br /> +The river and the river’s gold;<br /> +The earth’s hid treasures manifold;<br /> +The love of creatures small and great,<br /> +Save where I reap a precious hate;<br /> +The noon-tide sun with hot caress,<br /> +The night with quiet loneliness;<br /> +The wind that bends the pliant trees,<br /> +The whisper of the summer breeze;<br /> +The kiss of snow and rain; the star<br /> +That shines a greeting from afar;<br /> +All, all are mine; and yet so small<br /> +Am I, that lo, I needs must call,<br /> +Great King, upon the Babe in Thee,<br /> +And crave that Thou would’st give to me<br /> +The grace of Thy humility.</p> +<h2><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>A +German Christmas Eve</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was intensely cold; Father Rhine +was frozen over, so he may speak for it; and for days we had +lived to the merry jangle and clang of innumerable sleigh bells, +in a white and frost-bound world. As I passed through the +streets, crowded with stolidly admiring peasants from the +villages round, I caught the dear remembered ‘Grüss +Gott!’ and ‘All’ Heil!’ of the +countryside, which town life quickly stamps out along with many +other gentle observances.</p> +<p>“Gelobt sei Jesu Christ!” cried little Sister +Hilarius, coming on me suddenly at a corner, her round face aglow +with the sharp air, her arms filled with queer-shaped +bundles. She begs for her sick poor as she goes +along—meat here, some bread there, a bottle of good red +wine: I fancy few refuse her. She nursed me once, the good +little sister, with unceasing care and devotion, and all the +dignity of a scant five feet. “Ach, Du lieber Gott, +such gifts!” she added, with a radiant smile, and vanished +up a dirty stairway.</p> +<p>In the Quergasse a jay fell dead at my feet—one of the +many birds which perished thus—he had flown townwards too +late. Up at the Jagdschloss the wild creatures, crying a +common truce of hunger, trooped each day to the clearing by the +Jäger’s cottage for the food spread for them. +The great tusked boar of the Taunus with his brother of +Westphalia, the timid roe deer with her scarcely braver mate, +foxes, hares, rabbits, feathered game, and tiny songbirds of the +woods, gathered fearlessly together and fed at the hand of their +common enemy—a millennial banquet truly.</p> +<p>The market-place was crowded, and there were Christmas trees +everywhere, crying aloud in bushy nakedness for their rightful +fruit. The old peasant women, rolled in shawls, with large +handkerchiefs tied over their caps, warmed their numb and +withered hands over little braziers while they guarded the gaily +decked treasure-laden booths, from whose pent-roofs Father Winter +had hung a fringe of glittering icicles.</p> +<p>Many of the stalls were entirely given over to Christmas-tree +splendours. Long trails of gold and silver +<i>Engelshaar</i>, piles of candles—red, yellow, blue, +green, violet, and white—a rainbow of the Christian virtues +and the Church’s Year; boxes of frost and snow, festoons of +coloured beads, fishes with gleaming scales, glass-winged birds, +Santa Klaus in frost-bedecked mantle and scarlet cap, angels with +trumpets set to their waxen lips; and everywhere and above all +the image of the Holy Child. Sometimes it was the tiny +waxen Bambino, in its pathetic helplessness; sometimes the Babe +Miraculous, standing with outstretched arms awaiting the +world’s embrace—Mary’s Son, held up in loving +hands to bless; or the Heavenly Child-King with crown and lily +sceptre, borne high by Joseph, that gentle, faithful +servitor. It was the festival of Bethlehem, feast of +never-ending keeping, which has its crowning splendour on +Christmas Day.</p> +<p>A Sister passed with a fat, rosy little girl in either hand; +they were chattering merrily of the gift they were to buy for the +dear Christkind, the gift which Sister said He would send some +ragged child to receive for Him. They came back to the poor +booth close to where I was standing. It was piled with warm +garments; and after much consultation a little white vest was +chosen—the elder child rejected pink, she knew the +Christkind would like white best—then they trotted off down +a narrow turning to the church, and I followed.</p> +<p>The Crêche stood without the chancel, between the High +Altar and that of Our Lady of Sorrows. It was very +simple. A blue paper background spangled with stars; a +roughly thatched roof supported on four rude posts; at the back, +ox and ass lying among the straw with which the ground was +strewn. The figures were life-size, of carved and painted +wood: Joseph, tall and dignified, stood as guardian, leaning on +his staff; Mary knelt with hands slightly uplifted in loving +adoration; and the Babe lay in front on a truss of straw disposed +as a halo. It was the World’s Child, and the position +emphasised it. Two or three hard-featured peasants knelt +telling their beads; and a group of children with round, blue +eyes and stiff, flaxen pigtails, had gathered in front, and were +pointing and softly whispering. My little friends trotted +up, crossed themselves; it was evidently the little one’s +first visit.</p> +<p>“Guck! guck mal an,” she cried, clapping her fat +gloved hands, “sieh mal an das Wickelkind!”</p> +<p>“Dass ist unser Jesu,” said the elder, and the +little one echoed “Unser Jesu, unser Jesu!”</p> +<p>Then the vest was brought out and shown—why not, it was +the Christchild’s own?—and the pair trotted away +again followed by the bright, patient Sister. Presently +everyone clattered out, and I was left alone at the crib of +Bethlehem, the gate of the Kingdom of Heaven.</p> +<p>It was my family, my only family; but like the ever-widening +circle on the surface of a lake into which a stone has been +flung, here, from this great centre, spread the wonderful +ever-widening relationship—the real brotherhood of the +world. It is at the Crib that everything has its beginning, +not at the Cross; and it is only as little children that we can +enter into the Kingdom of Heaven.</p> +<p>When I went out again into the streets it was nearly +dark. Anxious mothers hurried past on late, mysterious +errands; papas who were not wanted until the last moment chatted +gaily to each other at street corners, and exchanged +recollections; maidservants hastened from shop to shop with large +baskets already heavily laden; and the children were everywhere, +important with secrets, comfortably secure in the knowledge of a +tree behind the parlour doors, and a kindly, generous Saint who +knew all their wants, and needed no rod <i>this</i> year.</p> +<p>One little lad, with a pinched white face, and with only an +empty certainty to look forward to, was singing shrilly in the +sharp, still air, “Zu Bethlehem geboren, ist uns ein +Kindelein,” as he gazed wistfully at a shop window piled +high with crisp gingerbread, marzipan, chocolate under every +guise, and tempting cakes. A great rough peasant coming +out, saw him, turned back, and a moment later thrust a +gingerbread Santa Klaus, with currant eyes and sugar trimming to +his coat and cap, into the half-fearful little hands. +“Hab’ ebenso ein Kerlchen zu Haus’,” he +said to me apologetically as he passed.</p> +<p>I waited to see Santa Klaus disappear; but no, the child +looked at the cake, sighed deeply with the cruel effort of +resistance, and refrained. It was all his Christmas and he +would keep it. He gazed and gazed, then a smile rippled +across the wan little face and he broke out in another carol, +“Es kam ein Engel hell und klar vom Himmel zu der Hirten +Schaar,” and hugging his Santa Klaus carefully, wandered +away down the now brilliant streets: he did not know he was +hungry any more; the angel had come with good tidings.</p> +<p>As I passed along the streets I could see through the +uncurtained windows that in some houses Christmas had begun +already for the little ones. Then the bells rang out +deep-mouthed, carrying the call of the eager Church to her +children, far up the valley and across the frozen river. +And they answered; the great church was packed from end to end, +and from my place by the door I saw that two tiny Christmas trees +bright with coloured candles burnt either side of the Holy +Child.</p> +<p>A blue-black sky ablaze with stars for His glory, a fresh +white robe for stained and tired earth; so we went to Bethlehem +in the rare stillness of the early morning. The Church, +having no stars, had lighted candles; and we poor sinful men +having no white robes of our own had craved them of the Great +King at her hands.</p> +<p>And so in the stillness, with tapers within and stars alight +without, with a white-clad earth, and souls forgiven, the Christ +Child came to those who looked for His appearing.</p> +<h2><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>A +Christmas Idyll</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Child with the wondering eyes +sat on the doorstep, on either side of her a tramp cat in process +of becoming a recognised member of society. On the flagged +path in front the brown brethren were picking up crumbs. +The cats’ whiskers trembled, but they sat still, proudly +virtuous, and conscious each of a large saucer of warm milk +within.</p> +<p>“What,” said the Child, “is a +symbol?”</p> +<p>The cats looked grave.</p> +<p>The Child rose, went into the house, and returned with a +well-thumbed brown book. She turned the pages thoughtfully, +and read aloud, presumably for the benefit of the cats: “In +a symbol there is concealment yet revelation, the infinite is +made to blend with the finite, to stand visible, and as it were +attainable there.” The Child sighed, “We had +better go to the Recluse,” she said. So the three +went.</p> +<p>It was a cold, clear, bright day, a typical Christmas +Eve. There was a carpet of crisp snow on the ground, and a +fringe of icicles hung from every vantage-point. The cats, +not having been accustomed to the delights of domesticity, +trotted along cheerfully despite the chill to their toes; and +they soon came to the forest which all three knew very well +indeed. It was a beautiful forest like a great cathedral, +with long aisles cut between the splendid upstanding pine +trees. The green-fringed boughs were heavy with snow, the +straight strong stems caught and reflected the stray sun rays, +and looking up through the arches and delicate tracery and +interlaced branches the eye caught the wonderful blue of the +great domed roof overhead. The cats walked delicately, +fearful of temptation in the way of rabbits or frost-tamed birds, +and the Child lilted a quaint German hymn to a strange old +tune:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Ein Kind gebor’n zu Bethlehem.<br /> + + +Alleluja!<br /> +Dess freuet sich Jerusalem,<br /> + + +Alleluja! Alleluja!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The Recluse was sitting on a bench outside his cave. He +was dressed in a brown robe, his eyes were like stars wrapped in +brown velvet, his face was strong and gentle, his hair white +although he looked quite young. He greeted the Child very +kindly and stroked the cats.</p> +<p>“You have come to ask me a question, Child?”</p> +<p>“If you please,” said the Child, “what is a +symbol?”</p> +<p>“Ah,” said the Recluse, “I might have known +you would ask me that.”</p> +<p>“The Sage says,” went on the Child, “that it +is concealment yet revelation.”</p> +<p>The Recluse nodded.</p> +<p>“Just as a mystery that we cannot understand is the +greatest possible wisdom. Go in and sit by my fire, Child; +there are chestnuts on the hearth, and you will find milk in the +brown jug. I will show you a symbol presently.”</p> +<p>The Child and the two cats went into the cave and sat down by +the fire. It was warm and restful after the biting +air. The cats purred pleasantly, the Child sat with her +chin in her hand watching the glowing wood burn red and white on +the great hearthstone.</p> +<p>“The Recluse generally answers my questions by showing +me something I have seen for a long time but never beheld, or +heard and never lent ear. I wonder what it will be this +time,” she said to herself.</p> +<p>The grateful warmth made the Child sleepy, and she gave a +start when she found the Recluse standing by her with +outstretched hand.</p> +<p>“Come, dear Child,” he said; and leaving the +sleeping cats she followed him, her hand in his.</p> +<p>The air was full of wonderful sound, voices and song, and the +cry of the bells.</p> +<p>The Child wondered, and then remembered it was Christmas +night. The Recluse led her down a little passage and opened +a door. They stepped out together, but not into the +forest.</p> +<p>“This is the front door of my house,” said the +Recluse, with a little smile.</p> +<p>They stood on a white road, on one side a stretch of limestone +down, on the other steep terraces with gardens and +vineyard. The air was soft and warm, and sweet with the +breath of lilies. The heaven was ablaze with stars; across +the plain to the east the dawn was breaking. A group of +strangely-clad men went down the road followed by a flock of +sheep.</p> +<p>“Let us go with them,” said the Recluse; and hand +in hand they went.</p> +<p>The road curved to the right; round the bend, cut in the +living rock, was a cave; the shepherds stopped and knelt, and +there was no sound but the soft rapid breathing of the +flock. Then the Child was filled with an overmastering +longing, a desire so great that the tears sprang hot to her +eyes. She dropped the Recluse’s hand and went forward +where the shepherds knelt. Once again the air was full of +wonderful sound, voices and song, and the cry of the bells; but +within all was silence. The cave was rough-hewn, and +stabled an ox and an ass; close to the front a tall strong man +leaning on a staff kept watch and ward; within knelt a peasant +Maid, and on a heap of yellow straw lay a tiny new-born Babe +loosely wrapped in a linen cloth: around and above were wonderful +figures of fire and mist.</p> +<p>The infinite, visible and attainable.</p> +<p>The mystery which is the greatest possible wisdom.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>“Come, Child,” said the Recluse.</p> +<p>The fire had burnt low; it was quite dark, save for the glow +of the live embers.</p> +<p>He threw on a great dry pine log; it flared like a +torch. The cats’ stretched in the sudden blaze, and +then settled to sleep again. The Child and the Recluse +passed out into the forest. The moon was very bright and +the snow reflected its rays, so that it was light in spite of the +great trees. The air was full of wonderful sound, voices +and song, and the cry of the bells; and the Child sang as she +went in a half-dream by the side of the Recluse:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“In dieser heil’gen Weihnachtszeit,<br +/> + + +Alleluja!<br /> +Sei, Gott der Herr, gebenedeit,<br /> + + +Alleluja! Alleluja!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and wondered when she would wake up. They came to the +old, old church in the forest, and the pictured saints looked out +at them from the lighted window; through the open door they could +see figures moving about with tapers in their hands; save for +these the church was still empty.</p> +<p>The Recluse led the way up the nave to the north side of the +Altar. The Child started a little; she was really dreaming +then a kind of circular dream, for again she stood before the +cave, again the reverend figure kept watch and ward over the +kneeling Maid and the little Babe. The sheep and the +shepherds were not there, but a little lamb had strayed in; and +the wonderful figures of fire and mist—they were there in +their place.</p> +<p>“Little one,” said the Recluse softly, “here +is a symbol—concealment yet revelation—the King as +servant—the strong helpless—the Almighty a little +child; and thus the infinite stands revealed for all of us, +visible and attainable, if we will have it so. It is the +centre of all mystery, the greatest possible wisdom, the Eternal +Child.”</p> +<p>“You showed it me before,” said the Child, +“only we were out of doors, and the shepherds were there +with the sheep; but the angels are here just the same.”</p> +<p>The Recluse bowed his head.</p> +<p>“Wait for me here with them, dear Child, I will fetch +you after service.”</p> +<p>The church began to fill; old men in smock frocks and tall +hats, little children wrapped warm against the cold, lads, +shining and spruce, old women in crossed shawls and wonderful +bonnets. The service was not very long; then the Recluse +went up into the old grey stone pulpit. The villagers +settled to listen—he did not often preach.</p> +<p>“My brothers and sisters, to-night we keep the Birth of +the Holy Babe, and to-night you and I stand at the gate of the +Kingdom of Heaven, the gate which is undone only at the cry of a +little child. ‘Except ye be converted and become as +little children, ye shall not enter.’</p> +<p>“The Kingdom is a great one, nay, a limitless one; and +many enter in calling it by another name. It includes your +own hearts and this wonderful forest, all the wise and beautiful +works that men have ever thought of or done, and your daily toil; +it includes your nearest and dearest, the outcast, the prisoner, +and the stranger; it holds your cottage home and the jewelled +City, the New Jerusalem itself. People are apt to think the +Kingdom of Heaven is like church on Sunday, a place to enter once +a week in one’s best: whereas it holds every flower, and +has room for the ox and the ass, and the least of all creatures, +as well as for our prayer and worship and praise.</p> +<p>“‘Except ye become as little +children.’ How are we to be born again, simple +children with wondering eyes?</p> +<p>“We must learn to lie in helpless dependence, to open +our mouth wide that it may be filled, to speak with halting +tongue the language we think we know; we must learn above all our +own ignorance, and keep alight and cherish the flame of innocency +in our hearts.</p> +<p>“It is a tired world, my brethren, and we are most of us +tired men and women who live on it, for we seek ever after some +new thing. Let us pass out through the gate into the +Kingdom of Heaven and not be tired any more, because there we +shall find the new thing that we seek. Heaven is on earth, +the Kingdom is here and now; the gate stands wide to-night, for +it is the birthright of the Eternal Child. We are none of +us too poor, or stupid, or lowly; it was the simple shepherds who +saw Him first. We are none of us too great, or learned, or +rich; it was the three wise kings who came next and offered +gifts. We are none of us too young; it was little children +who first laid down their lives for Him; or too old, for Simeon +saw and recognised Him. There is only one thing against +most of us—we are too proud.</p> +<p>“My brethren, ‘let us now go even to Bethlehem, +and face this thing which is come to pass, which the <span +class="smcap">Lord</span> hath made known unto +us.’”</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>The lights were out in the church when the Recluse came to +fetch the Child. She was still kneeling by the +crêche, keeping watch with the wonderful figures of fire +and mist.</p> +<p>“Was <i>this</i> a dream or the other?” said the +Child.</p> +<p>“Neither,” said the Recluse, and he blessed her in +the moonlit dark.</p> +<p>The air was full of wonderful sound, voices and song, and the +cry of the bells.</p> +<h2><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>The +Manifestation</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">God</span> said; “Let +there be light”; and in the East<br /> +A star rose flaming from night’s purple sea—<br /> +The star of Truth, the star of Joy, the star<br /> +Seen by the prophets down the lonely years;<br /> +Set for a light to show the Perfect Way;<br /> +Set for a sign that wayfarers might find;<br /> +Set for a seal to mark the Godhead’s home.<br /> +And three Kings in their palaces afar,<br /> +Who waited ardently for promised things,<br /> +Beheld, and read aright. Straightway the road<br /> +Was hot with pad of camel, horse’s hoof,<br /> +While night was quick as day with spurring men<br /> +And light with flaring torch. “Haste, haste!” +they cried,<br /> +“We seek the King, the King! for in the East<br /> +His star’s alight.”</p> +<h3><span class="smcap">Bethlehem</span></h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Angels</i></p> +<p class="poetry">Soft and slow, soft and slow,<br /> +With angels’ wings of fire and snow,<br /> +To rock Him gently to and fro.<br /> +Fire to stay the chill at night,<br /> +Snow to cool the noonday bright;<br /> +And overhead His star’s alight.</p> +<p class="poetry">Pale and sweet, pale and sweet,<br /> +Maid Mary keeps her vigil meet,<br /> +While Joseph waits with patient feet.<br /> +Mary’s love for soft embrace,<br /> +Joseph’s strength to guard the place.<br /> +Lo! from the East Kings ride apace.</p> +<p class="poetry">Gold and myrrh, gold and myrrh,<br /> +Frankincense for harbinger,<br /> +Myrrh to make His sepulchre.<br /> +Roses white and roses red,<br /> +Thorns arrayed for His dear Head.<br /> +Hail! hail! Wise Men who seek His bed</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Joseph</i></p> +<p class="poetry">Little One, Little One, Saviour and Child,<br +/> + Father and Mother, my Husband and Son;<br /> +Born of the lily, the maid undefiled,<br /> + Babe of my Love, the Beatified One.</p> +<p class="poetry">Little One, Little One, Master and <span +class="smcap">Lord</span>,<br /> + Kings of the Earth come, desiring Thy Face;<br /> +I, Thy poor servitor, lowly afford<br /> + All that my life holds, for all is Thy Grace.</p> +<p class="poetry">Little One, Little One, <span +class="smcap">God</span> over all,<br /> + Earth is thy footstool, and Heav’n is Thy +throne:<br /> +Joseph the carpenter, prostrate I fall;<br /> + Praise thee, adore Thee, and claim Thee mine +own.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Maid Mary</i></p> +<p +class="poetry"> Babe, +dear Babe!<br /> +Mine own, mine own, my heart’s delight,<br /> +The myrrh between my breasts at night,<br /> +My little Rose, my Lily white,<br /> +My Babe for whom the star’s alight.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Babe, +dear Babe!<br /> +Mine own, mine own, <span class="smcap">God’s</span> only +<span class="smcap">Son</span>,<br /> +Foretold, foreseen, since earth begun;<br /> +Desire of nations, Promised One<br /> +When Eve was first by sin undone.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Babe, +dear Babe!<br /> +Mine own, mine own, the whole world’s Child!<br /> +Born of each heart that’s undefiled,<br /> +Nursed at the breast of Mercy mild,<br /> +And in the arms of Love asiled.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Babe, +dear Babe!<br /> +My crown of glory, sorrow’s sword,<br /> +My Maker, King, Redeemer, Lord,<br /> +My Saviour and my great Reward;<br /> +My little Son, my Babe adored.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Three Kings</i></p> +<p class="poetry">Hail! Hail thou wondrous little King!<br +/> + + +To Thy dear Feet<br /> + + +Our offerings meet<br /> +With bended knee we bring;<br /> + + +O mighty baby King,<br /> + + +Accept the offering.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>First King</i></p> +<p +class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Lord</span>, I stoop low<br /> + + +My head of snow,<br /> +Thus I, the great, hail Thee, the Least!<br /> +And swing the censer for the Priest,<br /> +The Priest with hands upraised to bless,<br /> +The Priest of this world’s bitterness.<br /> + + +As I stoop low<br /> + + +My head of snow,<br /> +Bless me, O Priest, before I go.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Second King</i></p> +<p +class="poetry"> Behold +me, King!<br /> + + +A man of might,<br /> + + +Who rules dominions infinite;<br /> +Strong in the harvest of the years,<br /> +And one who counts no kings as peers.<br /> + + +O little King,<br /> + + +Behold my crown!<br /> + + +I lay it down,<br /> +And bow before Thy lowly bed<br /> +My all unworthy uncrowned head,<br /> +For I am naught and Thou art All.<br /> +And Thou shalt climb a throne set high,<br /> +Between sad earth and silent sky,<br /> +Thereon to agonize and die;<br /> +And at Thy Feet the world shall fall.<br /> + + +Stretch out Thy little Hands, O King,<br /> + + +Behold the world’s imagining!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Third King</i></p> +<p class="poetry">Out of the shadow of the night<br /> +I come, led by the starshine bright,<br /> +With broken heart to bring to Thee<br /> +The fruit of Thine Epiphany,<br /> +The gift my fellows send by me,<br /> +The myrrh to bed Thine agony.<br /> +I set it here beneath Thy Feet,<br /> +In token of Death’s great defeat;<br /> +And hail Thee Conqueror in the strife;<br /> +And hail Thee Lord of Light and Life.<br /> + + +All hail! All hail the Virgin’s Son!<br /> + + +All hail! Thou little helpless One!<br /> + + +All hail! Thou King upon the Tree!<br /> + + +All hail! The Babe on Mary’s knee,<br /> + + +The centre of all mystery!</p> +<h2><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>All +Souls’ Day in a German Town</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> leaves fall +softly: a wind of sighs<br /> +Whispers the world’s infirmities,<br /> +Whispers the tale of the waning years,<br /> +While slow mists gather in shrouding tears<br /> +On All Souls’ Day; and the bells are slow<br /> +In steeple and tower. Sad folk go<br /> +Away from the township, past the mill,<br /> +And mount the slope of a grassy hill<br /> +Carved into terraces broad and steep,<br /> +To the inn where wearied travellers sleep,<br /> +Where the sleepers lie in ordered rows,<br /> +And no man stirs in his long repose.<br /> +They wend their way past the haunts of life,<br /> +Father and daughter, grandmother, wife,<br /> +To deck with candle and deathless cross,<br /> +The house which holds their dearest loss.<br /> +I, who stand on the crest of the hill,<br /> +Watch how beneath me, busied still,<br /> +The sad folk wreathe each grave with flowers.<br /> +Awhile the veil of the twilight hours<br /> +Falls softly, softly, over the hill,<br /> +Shadows the cross:—creeps on until<br /> +Swiftly upon us is flung the dark.<br /> +Then, as if lit by a sudden spark,<br /> +Each grave is vivid with points of light,<br /> +Earth is as Heaven’s mirror to-night;<br /> +The air is still as a spirit’s breath,<br /> +The lights burn bright in the realm of Death.<br /> +Then silent the mourners mourning go,<br /> +Wending their way to the church below;<br /> +While the bells toll out to bid them speed,<br /> +With eager Pater and prayerful bead,<br /> +The souls of the dead, whose bodies still<br /> +Lie in the churchyard under the hill;<br /> +While they wait and wonder in Paradise,<br /> +And gaze on the dawning mysteries,<br /> +Praying for us in our hours of need;<br /> +For us, who with Pater and prayerful bead<br /> +Have bidden those waiting spirits speed.</p> +<h2><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>Rivers +and Streams</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Running</span> water has a charm all its +own; it proffers companionship of which one never tires; it +adapts itself to moods; it is the guardian of secrets. It +has cool draughts for the thirsty soul as well as for drooping +flowers; and they who wander in the garden of God with listening +ears learn of its many voices.</p> +<p>When the strain of a working day has left me weary, perhaps +troubled and perplexed, I find my way to the river. I step +into a boat and pull up stream until the exertion has refreshed +me; and then I make fast to the old alder-stump where last year +the reed-piper nested, and lie back in the stern and think.</p> +<p>The water laps against the keel as the boat rocks gently in +the current; the river flows past, strong and quiet. There +are side eddies, of course, and little disturbing whirlpools near +the big stones, but they are all gathered into the broad sweep of +the stream, carried down to the great catholic sea. And +while I listen to the murmur of the water and watch its quiet +strength the day’s wrinkles are smoothed out of my face; +and at last the river bears me homeward rested and at peace.</p> +<p>There are long stretches of time for me when I must remain +apart from the world of work, often unwilling, sometimes with a +very sore heart. Then I turn my steps towards my friend and +wander along the banks, a solitary not alone. In the quiet +evening light I watch the stream ‘never hasting, never +resting’: the grass that grows beside it is always green, +the flowers are fresh; it makes long embracing curves—I +could cross from point to point in a minute, but to follow takes +five. The ways of the water are ways of healing; I have a +companion who makes no mistakes, touches none of my tender +spots.</p> +<p>Presently I reach the silent pool, where the stream takes a +wide sweep. Here the fair white water-lilies lie on their +broad green leaves and wait for their lover the moon; for then +they open their silvery leaves and bloom in the soft light fairer +far than beneath the hot rays of the sun. Then, too, the +buds rise out of the water and the moon kisses them into bloom +and fragrance. Near by are the little yellow water-lilies, +set for beauty against a background of great blue-eyed +forget-me-nots and tall feathery meadowsweet. The river +still sweeps on its way, but the pool is undisturbed; it lies out +of the current. They say it is very deep—no one knows +quite how deep—and it has its hidden tragedy. I gaze +down through the clear water, following the thick +lily-stalks—a forest where solemn carp sail in and out and +perch chase each other through the maze—and beyond them I +cannot see the bottom, the secret of its stillness; but I may +watch the clouds mirrored on its surface, and the evening glow +lying at my feet.</p> +<p>I think of the fathomless depths of the peace of God, fair +with flowers of hope; of still places wrought in man; of mirrors +that reflect, in light uncomprehended, the Image of the Holy +Face.</p> +<p>I go home across the common, comforted, towards the little +town where the red roofs lie glimmering in the evening shadows, +and the old grey church stands out clear and distinct against the +fading sky.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>One of the happiest memories of my childhood is the little +brook in the home field. I know it was not a very clean +little brook—it passed through an industrious manufacturing +world—but to me then this mattered not at all.</p> +<p>Where it had its source I never found out; it came from a +little cave in the side of the hill, and I remember that one of +its banks was always higher than the other. I once sought +to penetrate the cave, but with sad results in the shape of bed +before dinner and no pudding, such small sympathy have +one’s elders with the spirit of research. Just beyond +the cave the brook was quite a respectable width,—even my +big boy cousin fell into mud and disgrace when he tried to jump +it—and there was a gravelly beach, at least several inches +square, where we launched our boats of hollowed elder-wood. +Soon, however, it narrowed, it could even be stepped over; but it +was still exciting and delightful, with two perilous rapids over +which the boats had to be guided, and many boulders—for the +brook was a brave stream, and had fashioned its bed in rocky +soil. Further down was our bridge, one flat stone dragged +thither by really herculean efforts. It was unnecessary, +but a triumph. A little below this outcome of our +engineering skill the brook widened again before disappearing +under a flagged tunnel into the neighbouring field. Here, +in the shallows, we built an aquarium. It was not +altogether successful, because whenever it rained at all hard the +beasts were washed out; but there was always joy in restocking +it. Under one of the banks close by lived a fat frog for +whom I felt great respect. We used to sit and gaze at each +other in silent intercourse, until he became bored—I think +I never did—and flopped into the water with a splash.</p> +<p>But it was the brook itself that was my chief and dearest +companion. It chattered and sang to me, and told me of the +goblins who lived under the hill, of fairies dancing on the grass +on moonlight nights, and scolding the pale lilac milk-maids on +the banks; and of a sad little old man dressed in brown, always +sad because his dear water-children ran away from him when they +heard the voice of the great river telling them of the calling of +the sea.</p> +<p>It spoke to me of other more wonderful things, not even now to +be put into words, things of the mysteries of a child’s +imagination; and these linger still in my life, and will linger, +I think, until they are fulfilled.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>I have another friend—a Devonshire stream. I found +it in spring when the fields along its banks were golden with +Lent-lilies. I do not even know its name; it has its source +up among the old grey tors, and doubtless in its beginning had a +hard fight for existence. When it reaches the plain it is a +good-sized stream, although nowhere navigable. I do not +think it even turns a mill; it just flows along and waters the +flowers. I have seen it with my bodily eyes only once; but +it has left in my life a blessing, a picture of blue sky, yellow +bells, and clear rippling water—and whispered secrets not +forgotten.</p> +<p>All the Devonshire streams are full of life and +strength. They chatter cheerily over stones, they toil +bravely to shape out their bed. Some of them might tell +horrible tales of the far-away past, of the worship of the false +god when blood stained the clear waters; tales, too, of feud and +warfare, of grave council and martial gathering; and happy +stories of fairy and pixy our eyes are too dull to see, and of +queer little hillmen with foreign ways and terror of all human +beings. Their banks are bright with tormentil, blue with +forget-me-not, rich in treasures of starry moss; the water is +clear, cool in the hottest summer—they rise under the +shadow of the everlasting hills, and their goal is the sea.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>There are other times when I must leave the clean waters and +the good brown earth, to live, for a while, in London: and there +I go on pilgrimage that I may listen to the river’s +voice.</p> +<p>I stand sometimes at a wharf where the ships are being +unloaded of the riches of every country, of fruits of labour by +my unknown brothers in strange lands; and the river speaks of +citizenship in the great world of God, wherein all men have +place, each man have his own place, and every one should be +neighbour to him who may have need.</p> +<p>I pass on to London Bridge, our Bridge of Sighs. How +many of these my brethren have sought refuge in the cold grey +arms of the river from something worse than death? What +drove them to this dreadful resting-place? What spectre +hurried them to the leap? These things, too, are my +concern, the river says.</p> +<p>Life is very grim in London: it is not painted in the fair, +glowing colours of grass and sky and trees, and shining streams +that bring peace. It is drawn in hard black and white; but +the voice of its dark waters must be heard all the same.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>I would not leave my rivers in the shadow. After all, +this life is only a prelude, a beginning: we pass on to where +“the rivers and streams make glad the city of +God.” But if we will not listen here how shall we +understand hereafter.</p> +<h2><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>Spring</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Hark</span> how the merry +daffodils,<br /> +Fling golden music to the hills!<br /> +And how the hills send echoing down,<br /> +Through wind-swept turf and moorland brown,<br /> +The murmurs of a thousand rills<br /> +That mock the song-birds’ liquid trills!<br /> +The hedge released from Winter’s frown<br /> +Shews jewelled branch and willow crown;<br /> +While all the earth with pleasure trills,<br /> +And ‘dances with the daffodils.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Out, out, ye flowers! Up and shout!<br /> +Staid Winter’s passed and Spring’s about<br /> +To lead your ranks in joyous rout;<br /> +To string the hawthorn’s milky pearls,<br /> +And gild the grass with celandine;<br /> +To dress the catkins’ tasselled curls,<br /> +To twist the tendrils of the vine.<br /> +She wakes the wind-flower from her sleep,<br /> +And lights the woods with April’s moon;<br /> +The violets lift their heads to peep,<br /> +The daisies brave the sun at noon.</p> +<p class="poetry">The gentle wind from out the west<br /> +Toys with the lilac pretty maids;<br /> +Ruffles the meadow’s verdant-vest,<br /> +And rings the bluebells in the glades;<br /> +The ash-buds change their sombre suit,<br /> +The orchards blossom white and red—<br /> +Promise of Autumn’s riper fruit,<br /> +When Spring’s voluptuousness has fled.<br /> +Awake! awake, O throstle sweet!<br /> +And haste with all your choir to greet<br /> +This Queen who comes with wakening feet.</p> +<p class="poetry">Persephone with grateful eyes<br /> +Salutes the Sun—’tis Paradise:<br /> +Then hastens down the dewy meads,<br /> +Past where the herd contented feeds,<br /> +Past where the furrows hide the grain,<br /> +For harvesting of sun and rain;<br /> +To where Demeter patient stands<br /> +With longing lips and outstretched hands,<br /> +Until the dawning of one face<br /> +Across the void of time and space<br /> +Shall bring again her day of grace.<br /> +Rejoice, O Earth! Rejoice and sing!<br /> +This is the promise of the Spring,<br /> +And this the world’s remembering.</p> +<h2><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 72</span>A +Lark’s Song</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sweet</span>, sweet!<br /> +I rise to greet<br /> +The sapphire sky<br /> +The air slips by<br /> +On either side<br /> +As up I ride<br /> +On mounting wing,<br /> +And sing and sing—<br /> +Then reach my bliss,<br /> +The sun’s great kiss;<br /> +And poise a space<br /> +To see his face,<br /> +Sweet, sweet,<br /> +In radiant grace,<br /> +Ah, sweet! ah, sweet!</p> +<p class="poetry">Sweet, sweet!<br /> +Beneath my feet<br /> +My nestlings call:<br /> +And down I fall<br /> +Unerring, true,<br /> +Through heaven’s blue;<br /> +And haste to fill<br /> +Each noisy bill.<br /> +My brooding breast<br /> +Stills their unrest.<br /> +Sweet, sweet,<br /> +Their quick hearts beat,<br /> +Safe in the nest:<br /> +Ah, sweet, sweet, sweet!<br /> +Ah, sweet!</p> +<p class="poetry">Sweet, sweet<br /> +The calling sky<br /> +That bids me fly<br /> +Up—up—on high.<br /> +Sweet, sweet<br /> +The claiming earth;<br /> +It holds my nest<br /> +And draws me down<br /> +To where Love’s crown<br /> +Of priceless worth<br /> +Awaits my breast.<br /> +Sweet, sweet!<br /> +Ah, this is best<br /> +And this most meet,<br /> +Sweet, sweet! ah, sweet!</p> +<h2><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span>‘Luvly Miss’</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Nobody</span> thought of +consequences. There was a lighted paraffin lamp on the +table and nothing else handy. Mrs Brown’s head +presented a tempting mark, and of course Mr Brown’s lengthy +stay at ‘The Three Fingers’ had something to do with +it; but nobody thought of Miss Brown, aged four, who was playing +happily on the floor, unruffled by the storm to which she was so +well accustomed.</p> +<p>Mrs Brown ducked; there was a smash, a scream, and poor little +Miss Brown was in a blaze. The shock sobered the father and +silenced the mother. Miss Brown was extinguished with the +aid of a table-cover, much water, and many neighbours; but she +was horribly burnt all over, except her face.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>I made Miss Brown’s acquaintance a few days later. +She was lying on a bed made up on two chairs, and was covered +with cotton wool. She had scarcely any pain, and could not +move at all; and the small face that peered out of what she +called her “pitty warm snow” was wan and drawn and +had a far-away look in the dark eyes.</p> +<p>Miss Brown possessed one treasure, her ‘luvly +miss.’ I suppose I must call it a doll, though in +what its claim to the title consisted I dared not ask; Miss Brown +would have deeply resented the enquiry. It was a very large +potato with a large and a small bulge. Into the large bulge +were inserted three pieces of fire-wood, the body and arms of +‘luvly miss’; legs she had none.</p> +<p>How Miss Brown came by this treasure I never heard. She +had an impression that it “flied froo the +winder”—I fancy Mr Brown had a hand in the +manufacture in one of his lucid moments; but it was a treasure +indeed and the joy of Miss Brown’s life. She held +long conversations with ‘luvly miss’ on all familiar +subjects; and apparently obtained much strange and rare +information from her. For example, Miss Brown and +‘luvly miss’ in some previous stage of their +existence had inhabited a large chimney-pot together, +“where it was always so warm and a bootie ‘mell of +cookin’.’” Also she had a rooted belief +that one day she and ‘luvly miss’ would be +“hangels wiv’ black weils and basticks.” +This puzzled me for some time, until I discovered it to be an +allusion to the good deaconess who attended her, and whom Mrs +Brown in gratitude designated by this title.</p> +<p>Alas for little Miss Brown and her ‘luvly miss’! +their respective ends were drawing near. I went in one +Friday, a week or so after the accident, and found Mrs Brown in +tears and despair, and Miss Brown with a look of anguish on her +poor little pinched face that was bad to see. ‘Luvly +Miss’ was no more.</p> +<p>It was Mr Brown again; or, to trace back the links of +occasion, it was the action of ‘The Three Fingers’ on +Mr Brown’s frail constitution. He had come in late, +seen ‘luvly miss’ on the table, and, with his usual +heedlessness of consequence, had chucked her into the dying +embers where—alas that I should have to say it!—she +slowly baked. Little Miss Brown, when the miserable truth +was broken to her, neither wept nor remonstrated; she lay quite +still with a look of utter forsaken wretchedness on her tiny +white face, and moaned very softly for ‘luvly +miss.’</p> +<p>I came face to face with this state of things and I confess it +staggered me. I knew Miss Brown too well to hope that any +pink-and-white darling from the toy-shop could replace +‘luvly miss,’ or that she could be persuaded to admit +even a very image of the dear departed into her affections. +Then, too, the doctor said Miss Brown had but a few days at the +most, perhaps only hours, to live; and comforted she must be.</p> +<p>All at once I had an inspiration, and never in my life have I +welcomed one more. I knelt down by little Miss Brown and +told her the story of the Phoenix. I had not reckoned in +vain upon her imagination: would I “yerely and twooly +bwing” her “werry own luvly miss out of the +ashes?” I lied cheerfully and hastened away to the +dust-bin, accompanied by Mrs Brown.</p> +<p>In a few minutes we returned with a pail of ashes, the ashes, +of course, of ‘luvly miss’ mingled with those of the +cruel fire which had consumed her. I danced solemnly round +them, murmured mysterious words, parted the ashes, and revealed +the form of ‘luvly miss.’ Love’s eyes +were not sharp to mark a change, and little Miss Brown’s +misplaced faith in me was strong. Never shall I forget the +scream of joy which greeted the restored treasure, or the relief +with which I saw an expression of peace settle once more on Miss +Brown’s face.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>I saw them again next day. Little Miss Brown was asleep +in her last little bed, still wrapped in the “pitty warm +snow,” and ‘luvly miss’ lay beside her.</p> +<h2>Four Stories Told to Children</h2> +<h3><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>The +Story of the Dreadful Griffin.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Children</span>,—I am going +to tell you a really breathless story for your holiday +treat. It will have to begin with the moral, because +everyone will be too much exhausted to read one at the end, and +as the moral is the only part that really matters, it is +important to come to it quite fresh.</p> +<p>We will, therefore, endeavour to learn from this +story:—</p> +<blockquote><p>If we fly at all, to fly <i>high</i>.<br /> +To be extremely polite.<br /> +To be kind and grateful to cats and all other animals.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>All the trouble arose one day when the Princess (there is +always a Princess in a fairy-tale, you know) was playing in the +garden with her ball. She threw it up in the air much +higher than usual and it never came down again. There was +an awful shriek, like ten thousand steam-engines; all the +ladies-in-waiting fainted in a row, the inhabitants of the place +went stone-deaf, and the Captain of the Guard, who was in +attendance with a company of his troops, seized the Princess, put +her on his horse, galloped away followed by his soldiers to a +castle on the top of a hill, deposited the Princess in the +highest room, and then and only then, told her what had +happened.</p> +<p>“Miss,” he said, for he was so upset he forgot +Court etiquette, “Miss, your ball must have hit the +Dreadful Griffin in the eye (I noticed he was taking a little fly +in the neighbourhood), and that was the reason of the awful +shriek. Well, Miss, the Dreadful Griffin never was known to +forgive anybody anything, so I snatched you up quick before he +could get at you and brought you to the Castle of the White +Cats. There are seventeen of these animals sitting outside +the door and twenty-seven more standing in the courtyard, so +you’re as safe as safe can be, for the Dreadful Griffin +can’t look at a white cat without getting the ague and then +he shakes so a mouse wouldn’t be afraid of him. And +now, Miss, I must go back to your Royal Pa, so I will wish you +good-morning.”</p> +<p>Having made this long speech the Captain suddenly remembered +the Court etiquette, became very hot and red, went out of the +room backwards, and instantly fell over the seventeen cats who +all swore at him, which so confused the poor man that he rolled +down the stairs and out into the court where the twenty-seven +cats were having rations of mouse-pie served out to them; and the +Captain rolled into the middle of the pie, scalded himself badly +with the gravy, and was thankful to jump on his horse and ride +away with his soldiers to report matters to the King.</p> +<p>The King was so pleased with his promptitude that he made him +the General of the Flying Squadron, which only fights in the air, +and conferred on him the medal of the Society for the Suppression +of Superfluous Salamanders, whereat the Captain was +overjoyed.</p> +<p>But this is a digression, and I only told you because I wanted +you to see that virtue is always rewarded.</p> +<p>Now for the poor Princess.</p> +<p>Well, she cried a little, of course, but the cats brought her +some mouse-pie, which she found very good, and she was soon quite +happy playing with some of the kittens and nearly forgot all +about the Dreadful Griffin; but he did not forget about +<i>her</i>, oh dear no! He flew after the Captain when he +galloped away with the Princess, but when he saw the White Cats +he shook with ague so fearfully that his teeth rolled about in +his mouth like billiard balls and he had to go and get a new set +before he could eat his dinner. Well, he was in a perfect +fury, and how to get at the Princess he did not know. He +swallowed several buckets of hot brimstone, rolled his head in a +red flannel petticoat, put his tail in a hot sand-bag, and went +to bed hoping to cure the ague, which he did completely, so that +he was quite well next day and more anxious to eat the Princess +than ever.</p> +<p>Now next door to the Dreadful Griffin (that is, a hundred +miles away) there lived a Wicked Witch, and he went to consult +her as to how he might get at the Princess. When the Wicked +Witch heard what a sad effect White Cats had on the +Griffin’s constitution she said that she would have +expected a Griffin of his coils to have had more sense.</p> +<p>“Any slow-worm knows,” said the Wicked Witch, +“that cats love mice better than Princesses; therefore get +a large sack of fat mice, let them loose a little way from the +castle, and when the cats see them they will run after them, and +you can eat the Princess.”</p> +<p>The Dreadful Griffin was so pleased with the Wicked Witch that +he presented her with a pair of fire-bricks and a hot-water tin, +and then flew away to the Purveyor of Mice, who lived in a town +about seventy miles away. He bought twelve hundred dozen +fat mice of the best quality, all the Purveyor had in stock that +were home-grown, and flew on with them to the castle. When +he was a little way off he let the mice out, expecting all the +cats to arrive at once; but not a cat appeared. They +<i>heard</i> mice and they <i>smelt</i> mice, but not a cat +moved, for they were on their honour; so they kept guard and +licked their lips sadly. When the Griffin saw the last of +the twelve hundred dozen mice disappearing down the road with +never a cat after them, he was in a tremendous temper and flew +away to the house of the Wicked Witch, only stopping to pick up a +steam engine which he dropped through her roof, and then went +home to bed. Next day he remembered a friend of his called +the Grumpy Giant, who lived six doors away, that is, about a +thousand miles, so he flew to ask his advice. When the +Giant heard his story, he said in the gruffest voice you ever +heard, “Mice is common, try sparrers” (by which you +can see that he was quite an uneducated person), and then he +turned over and went to sleep.</p> +<p>The Dreadful Griffin at once flew away to the Sparrow +Preserves, bought eleven thousand, and then proceeded to let them +fly close to the castle. Still not a cat moved. As +the cats’ copy-book well says, “Honour is dearer to +cats than mice or birds,” and all the kittens write this in +round-hand as soon as they can do lessons at all, and never +forget it.</p> +<p>Well, I really dare not describe the state of mind the Griffin +was in; but he made the air so hot that all the people put on +their thinnest clothes, although it was the middle of +winter. He flew home puffing and snorting, and on the way +he passed the house of the Amiable Answerer. He went in and +told his story, and his voice shook with rage. The Amiable +Answerer gave him a penny pink ice to cool him down, and then +said gently:—</p> +<p>“I think, dear Mr Griffin, that green spectacles would +meet your case. Then the cats which are now white would +appear to you green and . . . ”</p> +<p>But the Griffin was already half-way to a Watchmaker’s +where they sold glasses. He burst into the shop, frightened +the watchmaker so that he fell into the works of the watch he was +mending and could only be got out with the greatest difficulty, +seized twelve pairs of green spectacles, put them on all at once +and flew towards the castle.</p> +<p>Now the Dreadful Griffin was one of those creatures who do not +stop to think, consequently he came to grief. White cats +gave him the ague, but green dogs made him cough most fearfully; +and a little way out of the town he met thirteen white poodles +taking a walk, who of course all looked bright green to the +Dreadful Griffin. He coughed so fearfully that all the +twelve pairs of spectacles fell off his nose and were smashed to +bits, and his plan was spoilt once more.</p> +<p>No, I am not going to tell you what the Dreadful Griffin said +and did then, it is too terrible to speak of, but he had to keep +in bed for a week, and drink hot tar, and have his chest ironed +with a steam roller, and his nose greased with seven pounds of +tallow candles; but all his misfortunes did not cure him of +wanting to eat the Princess. When his cough was better, he +went for a walk in the wood near which he lived, to think out a +new plan. Suddenly he heard something croaking, and saw the +Fat Frog sitting under a tree. Now the Dreadful Griffin was +so low in his mind that he wanted to tell someone his troubles, +so he told the Fat Frog.</p> +<p>“Don’t come near me,” said the Fat Frog when +he had finished, “for I hate heat. If you look under +the fifth tree from the end of the wood you’ll find a thin +packet. Put it in sixteen gallons of water and pour it over +the cats, only mind you shut your eyes first, and for goodness +sake don’t come into this wood any more, you dry up the +moisture.”</p> +<p>The Griffin quite forgot to thank the Fat Frog, he was a +Griffin of <i>no</i> manners, but he didn’t forget to take +the packet. It was labelled ‘Reckitt’s,’ +and when he put it in the water all the water turned bright +blue. Then he took the pail in his claw, flew to the +castle, shut his eyes and poured some of the contents of the pail +over the cats in the courtyard.</p> +<p>When he opened his eyes there were twenty-seven bright blue, +damp, depressed cats; and he passed them without any +difficulty. He shut his eyes, wriggled up the stairs, +poured the remaining mixture over the seventeen cats, who all +turned as blue as the rest, and then he burst open the door of +the Princess’s room. Fortunately there was a kind +Fairy flying over the castle at that very moment, who, seeing +what was happening, changed the Princess into a flea so that the +Dreadful Griffin couldn’t see her anywhere.</p> +<p>No, if I couldn’t tell you before, I certainly must not +attempt now to describe the Griffin’s behaviour when he +found the Princess thus snatched from his jaws. He went +grunting and bellowing and screaming along; and just as he was +stopping to take breath he heard someone roaring with laughter, +and saw a little yellow man sitting on the top bough of a +tree.</p> +<p>“Are you laughing at ME?” said the Dreadful +Griffin (he was so angry that he was quite polite). And the +little man said quite as politely that he certainly +<i>was</i>.</p> +<p>“Why?” said the Dreadful Griffin, still fearfully +polite.</p> +<p>“Because you’re such a green Griffin,” said +the yellow man; and he screamed with laughter +again—“I know all about it, you’ve blued the +cats and now the Princess has greened you. She’s +turned into a flea, and you still want to eat her, and it never +occurred to you, you green old grampus of a Griffin, that fleas +like <i>cats</i>. I suppose the Princess flea +wouldn’t jump on to a tabby kitten, and you couldn’t +swallow the kitten—oh dear, no—of course not . . +.”</p> +<p>But the Griffin was gone. He went to the Zoo, found a +tabby kitten, though they are rare in that country, and flew back +with it to the Princess’s room.</p> +<p>He waited half an hour and then swallowed the kitten at one +gulp; but he instantly burst in four pieces, for the fluffy +kitten tickled his digestive organs so much that they cracked his +sides and he died; and the flea and the kitten came out quite +unhurt, only a little damp.</p> +<p>Then a wonderful thing happened. The tabby kitten +changed into the little yellow man who had laughed at the +Griffin. He grew, and grew, and in a few minutes he was a +handsome prince. His name was Prince Orange +Plushikins. One day a cruel witch whom he had offended had +changed him into an ugly yellow man, and had sworn that he should +only regain his shape if he was eaten by a Griffin when under the +form of a tabby kitten; which you know was precisely what +happened. Well, Prince Orange Plushikins at once asked the +Princess flea to marry him, and the minute the flea said +“Yes,” the Princess reappeared. She and the +Prince were married next morning; and all the cats went to the +steam laundry and were washed and bleached and had their tails +crimped and their whiskers starched; and they danced at the +wedding, and everybody lived happily ever after.</p> +<h3><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 103</span>The +Discontented Daffodils.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">They</span> had the very loveliest home +you can imagine, with beautiful soft moss and grass to grow in, +trees to form a cosy shelter from the wind, and a dear little +babbling stream to water them.</p> +<p>There were lots of daffodils in this pretty place, and nobody +ever discovered the nook to gather them. They rejoiced in +the spring sunshine and gentle breezes, the greeting of the +birds, and the musical chatter of the brook; then when their +brief visit to the upper world was over they nestled happily down +in their warm mossy beds and slept till April came again to wake +them.</p> +<p>A little apart from the rest were four daffodils growing at +the root of a gnarled oak tree, and one fine sunshiny morning +three of them took it into their silly little heads that they +were dull, the place was dull, the other daffodils were dull, and +they wanted a change.</p> +<p>It was mainly the fault of the cuckoo, for he was a grumbling, +mischief-making bird and used to spend a good deal of time +talking to the daffodils. This particular spring he had +taken up his abode in the oak tree, and was fond of talking of +all the grand things he had seen, and a great many he had not +seen, for the cuckoo is a bird of fine imagination; and at last, +as I have already said, three of the daffodils made up their +minds that to be a flower and live in a wood was a very dreadful +thing, and not to be put up with any longer.</p> +<p>Now the cuckoo had told many strange tales about creatures +with two legs and beautiful coloured leaves which grew in an odd +way, and feathers only on their heads. They could not fly, +but they could run about from place to place, and dance and sing; +and at last the daffodils decided that they wished to be like +these curious creatures, which the cuckoo called +<i>girls</i>.</p> +<p>Then there were sad times in that sweet little nook under the +oak tree.</p> +<p>The naughty daffodils cried and quarrelled and bewailed their +lot all day long, till they made themselves and everybody else +extremely wretched. Their little sister shook her head at +them, and scolded and said that for her part she was not meant to +have legs; but it was all no use, the daffodils would not be +quiet.</p> +<p>One day the Fairy Visitor who looked after the flowers in that +part heard the silly blossoms crying, and stopped to ask what was +the matter. When she heard the story she told them they +were very foolish and discontented, and that the cuckoo was a +most mischievous bird and liked to get people into trouble; but +the daffodils would not listen. So knowing there is nothing +so likely to cure silly flower as to give them their own silly +way, she said—“Very well, my dears, you want to be +girls, and girls you shall be.”</p> +<p>With that she waved her wand over the three daffodils and in a +twinkle they were gone; in their places stood three tall pretty +maidens dressed in soft yellow silk frocks with green stockings +and shoes. For a minute they were too much astonished to +speak, then clapping their hands they laughed and skipped for +joy, and wanted to kiss the old fairy because they were so +pleased at getting their own way; but the fairy would not look at +them, and stooped over the little flower now growing all alone, +saying kindly:—</p> +<p>“Well, little one, don’t you want to be a pretty +maiden, too?”</p> +<p>But the daffodil shook her head with great +determination:—</p> +<p>“I don’t want legs and I won’t have +legs. I was meant to be a flower and a flower I will be, +but if you could keep that meddling, chattering cuckoo away from +this tree for a time I should be much obliged.”</p> +<p>And the fairy laughed and promised.</p> +<p>Meanwhile the three pretty maidens had set of hand in hand to +seek their fortunes.</p> +<p>They went singing and dancing over the meadows in the soft +afternoon sunshine, and thought how wise and clever they were to +be girls instead of little unnoticed flowers growing in a +wood.</p> +<p>Presently they came to a house and stopped to ask whether they +could have a lodging for the night. There was no difficulty +about it, for that is a happy country where there is no money and +everything belongs to everybody, so the people of the +house—an old man and woman—were delighted to see the +beautiful maidens and made them heartily welcome, and the +daffodils went to bed that night very happy and quite content +with the result of their experiment. When they came to +undress, however, they received a severe shock.</p> +<p>They were girls, real proper girls, they could chatter and eat +and sleep, for the fairy was not one to do things by halves; but +when they pulled off the dainty green shoes and stockings, they +discovered that although they had the prettiest little legs and +feet and toes in the world, they were quite green, the colour of +daffodil leaves.</p> +<p>There wasn’t anything said about a “dear, darling, +kind old fairy” then, I can assure you.</p> +<p>The first daffodil said she was a wicked old witch. The +second said she was a horrible old woman; and the third said she +knew the fairy meant to pay them out, and she would like to +scratch her. Then they all set to work arguing and +quarrelling and crying like silly babies, when suddenly a +familiar “Cuck-oo!” sounded in their ears, and they +saw our old acquaintance perched on the window sill.</p> +<p>He looked at the six little green feet, and his eyes twinkled; +but before he could speak the three angry maidens all began +scolding him at once, for they were delighted to have somebody +fresh to find fault with.</p> +<p>The cuckoo, being in some respects a philosopher, did not +attempt to interrupt, but when they were quite exhausted he said +he really could not see any reason for their distress. No +one would ever wish to see their feet, and they could always wear +stockings. He added that he had great news, and had come on +purpose to bring it.</p> +<p>“The King of Silverland,” he said, “is +coming with all his court to hold high revel close to this place +and celebrate the coming of age of his three sons. These +princes were all born at once; and the king has decided to divide +his kingdom into three equal parts and leave his sons to rule +while he retires to his country place to study science. Now +these Silver princes desire to marry three princesses, sisters +born at once like themselves; but they are very hard to find, and +the king is advertising everywhere for triplets. When I +heard this I set off at once to tell you.”</p> +<p>The three maidens were so much interested and excited that +they forgot their troubles and began to sing.</p> +<p>The cuckoo was pleased with his success, but told them they +must go to bed and to sleep, and he would fetch them in the +morning to show them the way to the King of Silverland’s +court.</p> +<p>Next morning, although he arrived quite early, the maidens +were up and ready for him, looking very pretty in their yellow +frocks. The kind people of the house were quite sorry to +part with their guests and begged them to come again, and the +daffodil maidens set off in high spirits, following the cuckoo as +he flew slowly ahead across the sunlit meadows. About noon +they came in sight of the king’s court. The gorgeous +tents were of cloth of silver fastened with silver ropes; +fountains were playing in the open spaces, and flags flying +everywhere. The daffodils attracted a great deal of +attention as they made their way, blushing and a little +frightened, through the crowds of soldiers, court ladies and +attendants. At the door of the largest and most gorgeous +tent stood three beautiful princes dressed in silver.</p> +<p>When they saw the maidens approaching, hand in hand, they gave +a cry of joy and ran forward to greet them.</p> +<p>“Dear beautiful princesses,” they cried, +“welcome to our court! May we ask your names and the +country you come from?”</p> +<p>The cuckoo, perched on a tent-pole hard by, answered for +them. “These are the Princesses Daffodil, daughters +of the great King of Goldenland. They have come very many +days’ journey to be present at your revels.”</p> +<p>Think of the cuckoo telling such a dreadful story and those +naughty daffodils not contradicting him!</p> +<p>When the princes heard the cuckoo’s words they were +almost beside themselves with joy, for, as it happened, there was +a real King of Goldenland (but the cuckoo did not know it), and +he had three daughters of the same age whom the Silver princes +were anxious to see. They dropped on one knee, kissed the +maidens’ hands very prettily, and then led them, blushing +and delighted, into the royal tent.</p> +<p>The king was out, but the queen received the daffodils very +graciously.</p> +<p>“Triplet,” she said significantly, and it was the +princes’ turn to blush.</p> +<p>Then the young people visited all the beautiful tents, and the +great ballroom where there was to be a ball that night, and the +princes whispered to the maidens that they would dance with no +one else. When they had tasted the cowslip wine from the +fountains and eaten lots of wonderful sweets the daffodils +declared they were quite tired; so the princes put them into +hammocks with little monkeys to swing them, and the happy hours +wore on until the evening.</p> +<p>The maidens had had a beautiful tent assigned to them by the +queen, and they found lovely dresses of cloth of gold with shoes +and stockings to match, all ready for them. They looked so +beautiful when they were dressed that the colour of their feet +did not seem to matter at all.</p> +<p>All that night they danced with the princes, and everyone was +charmed with their beauty and grace, especially the king, who had +not received a single answer to his advertisement. At the +great banquet which followed the ball the betrothal of the Silver +princes to the Golden princesses was solemnly announced, and +their health drunk amid great rejoicing.</p> +<p>The dawn was red in the east before the festivities were over, +and the daffodils went to bed happier than they had ever been +before, happier than they ever would be again. A new and +awful trouble of which they had never dreamt was about to befall +them.</p> +<p>When the princes came to meet their betrothed next morning the +maidens noticed that, although very affectionate, they were +downcast and somewhat silent. At last, after a great deal +of questioning, the reason came out. The king and queen had +both had exactly the same curious dream, and this strange +occurrence had upset their majesties very much. They both +dreamt that one of the princesses, as they believed them to be, +had six toes on each foot; and as no monstrosity could ever share +the throne of Silverland they demanded to see the +princesses’ little feet with their own eyes, so as to be +quite sure they all had only the right number of toes.</p> +<p>When the princes with many blushes broke this news to their +lady-loves, they each gave a short loud scream and fainted.</p> +<p>Their lovers, of course, put this down to extreme modesty, and +were much affected by such proper conduct; but when they +succeeded in restoring them to consciousness they were not a +little disturbed to find that the maidens positively refused to +show their feet.</p> +<p>Imagine the grief of the poor princes! The king had said +quite positively that not one of the princes should marry till +he, the queen, and the councillors of the kingdom, had seen the +bride’s feet; and the maidens now declared that they would +never never show them.</p> +<p>Matters were in this awkward state when the cuckoo appeared on +the scene. He had as usual contrived to find out what was +going on, and now announced that he had a private message for the +Golden princesses, if they would take him to their tent.</p> +<p>When they were alone the daffodils began to cry their eyes +out, and the cuckoo to try and comfort them.</p> +<p>“Green feet,” he said, “are very uncommon +and would no doubt be welcomed as a great rarity.”</p> +<p>But the maidens sobbed on.</p> +<p>“The princes love you so much they will think your +little feet the most beautiful colour in the world.”</p> +<p>But they would not listen.</p> +<p>“I heard the king and queen say that green was their +favourite colour,” he remarked next.</p> +<p>This was pure invention on the cuckoo’s part, but the +daffodils were somewhat cheered, and after a great deal of +talking the cuckoo persuaded them to give in and consent to show +their feet, as they could not possibly marry the princes +without. Besides, perhaps when the king found their toes +were all right he would think the colour rather ornamental than +otherwise. So the princes were told to their great joy that +the princesses had consented to show their feet; and the king and +queen, on being informed, summoned a Cabinet Council for the next +morning so that their ministers might be present at the counting +of the princesses’ toes.</p> +<p>Meantime the real Goldenland princesses had arrived near the +camp; but as they and their suite were very tired they resolved +not to visit the Silver king till the next day, and commanded +that no one should mention their arrival.</p> +<p>That night the daffodils never slept, for fear once more took +possession of them. They scrubbed their feet, but the +fairy’s dye would not come off; then they scraped them, but +that hurt very much and did no good. Finally they chalked +them, but that was no use at all; so they had to give it up in +despair, and hope for the best.</p> +<p>Next morning two of the court ushers came to escort them to +the Cabinet Council. Poor daffodils! Their eyes were +red with weeping, and they could scarcely stand for terror when +they entered the tent where the examination was to take +place.</p> +<p>In the middle on a raised dais sat the king and queen, on +their right stood the three princes, on their left the +councillors in their robes of state. Three chairs were +placed for the maidens, and they were politely but firmly +requested to take off their shoes and stockings.</p> +<p>Blushing crimson the daffodils slowly and unwillingly took off +their shoes. Then they cried a little and said they really +truly couldn’t, but it was no use, and the stockings had to +follow, and six little green feet were exposed to view.</p> +<p>“They wear two pairs, I see,” said the queen, who +was a little short-sighted. “Very sensible, I’m +sure, in this damp place. Take off the other pair, my +dears.”</p> +<p>But the daffodils only hung their heads and wept.</p> +<p>Then one of the councillors cried out, in a horrified +tone—“Their feet are green! They are +monstrosities!” and at that very moment heralds were heard +outside announcing the arrival of the Princesses of +Goldenland.</p> +<p>Now the king was a shrewd old gentleman, and the true state of +affairs suddenly flashed upon him. “They are +impostors!” he cried, rising to his feet, “turn the +deceitful minxes out.”</p> +<p>At that the maidens rose and fled. They never stopped +for shoes or stockings, but ran like hunted hares out of the tent +across the fields; and when the people saw their little green +feet a great shout of laughter went up, in which the king and the +princes joined. As for the daffodils, they ran and ran and +ran, not daring even to look behind them, till they suddenly +stopped for want of breath; and where do you think they +were? Why in their old home under the oak tree. Most +of the daffodils had gone to sleep, but a few were left, and +among them their little sister. At her side stood the +fairy.</p> +<p>“Well, my dears, do you like being girls?” and +there was a twinkle in her eye as she spoke.</p> +<p>But the daffodils were sobbing too bitterly to answer, and the +fairy had a kind heart and did not press the question. +“Would you be content to be daffodils again?” she +asked, and smiled at them sweetly.</p> +<p>They murmured a thankful “Yes”; the fairy waved +her wand, and in a trice the maidens were gone and there were +three more flowers, very pale faded ones, growing under the +gnarled oak tree. Poor discontented daffodils! They +had to pay a heavy price for their folly.</p> +<p>The cuckoo came back time after time, and never wearied of +teasing them; and their little sister made many very true but +disagreeable remarks on the extreme silliness of being +discontented with one’s surroundings.</p> +<p>Perhaps by next spring things may be better; but of this you +may be quite sure, no amount of cuckoos will ever persuade the +flowers in that nook to be anything but what nature intended them +to be—sweet little daffodils.</p> +<h3><a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 128</span>The +Fairy Fluffikins</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Fairy Fluffikins lived in a +warm woolly nest in a hole down an old oak tree. She was +the sweetest, funniest little fairy you ever saw. She wore +a little, soft, fluffy brown dress, and on her head a little red +woolly cap; she had soft red hair and the brightest, naughtiest, +merriest, sharpest brown eyes imaginable.</p> +<p>What a life she led the animals! Fairy Fluffikins was a +sad tease; she would creep into the nests where the fat baby +dormice were asleep in bed while Mamma dormouse nodded over her +knitting and Papa smoked his little acorn pipe; and she would +tickle the babies till they screamed with laughter and nearly +rolled out of bed, and Mamma scolded, and Papa said in a gruff +voice—“What a plague you are, you little dors; go to +sleep this minute or I will fetch my big stick.”</p> +<p>And then the babies would shake, for they were afraid of the +big stick; and naughty Fairy Fluffikins would dance off to find +some fresh piece of mischief.</p> +<p>One night she had fine fun. She found a little dead +mouse in a field; and at first she was sorry for the mouse, and +thought she would bury it and plant a daisy on its grave; but +then an idea struck her. She hunted about till she found a +piece of long, strong grass, and then she took the little mouse, +tied the piece of grass round its tail, and ran away with it to +the big tree where the Ancient Owl lived. There was a +little hole at the bottom of the tree and into it Fairy +Fluffikins crept, leaving the mouse outside in the +moonlight. Presently she heard a gruff voice in the tree +saying—</p> +<p>“I smell mouse, I smell mouse.” Then there +was a swoop of wings, and Fairy Fluffikins promptly drew the +mouse into the little hole and stuffed its tail into her mouth so +that she might not be heard laughing; and the gruff voice said +angrily—</p> +<p>“Where’s that mouse gone? I smelt mouse, I +know I smelt mouse!”</p> +<p>She grew tired of this game after a few times, so she left the +mouse in the hole and crept away to a new one. She really +was a naughty fairy. She blew on the buttercups so that +they thought the morning breeze had come to wake them up, and +opened their cups in a great hurry. She buzzed outside the +clover and made it talk in its sleep, so that it said in a cross, +sleepy voice—“Go away, you stupid busy bee, and +don’t wake me up in the middle of the night.”</p> +<p>She pulled the tail of the nightingale who was singing to his +lady-love in the hawthorn bush, and he lost his place in his song +and nearly tumbled over backwards into the garden. Then to +her joy she met an elderly, domestic puss taking an evening walk +with a view to field-mice.</p> +<p>Here was sport. Fluffikins hid in the grass and +squeaked; and when the elderly cat came tearing up she pulled his +whiskers and flew away (I forgot to tell you that she had little, +soft wings), and the elderly cat jumped and said—</p> +<p>“Mouse-traps and mince-meat! Fancy a cat of my age +and experience taking a bat for a mouse! But by my claws I +heard a mouse’s squeak.”</p> +<p>Fairy Fluffikins often met the poor elderly cat, and always +led him some dreadful dance, now and then taking a ride on his +back into the bargain, till he thought he must have got the +nightmare.</p> +<p>One day Fairy Fluffikins was well paid out for some of her +naughtiness. She was flying away from a tree where she had +just wrapped a sleeping bat’s head up in a large cobweb, +when she heard the sweep of wings, felt a sharp nip—and in +less time than it takes to tell found herself in the nest of the +Ancient Owl.</p> +<p>“My wig!” said the Ancient Owl, much surprised, +“I thought you were a bat.” And he called his +wife and three children to look.</p> +<p>Now when Fairy Fluffikins saw five pairs of large round eyes +blinking and staring at her she lost her head and cried +out—“Please, please, Mr Ancient Owl, don’t be +angry with me and I will never play tricks with mice any +more,” and so told the Ancient Owl what he had never even +suspected before.</p> +<p>Then the Ancient Owl was <span class="GutSmall">MOST +DREADFULLY ANGRY</span> and read Fairy Fluffikins a long sermon +about the wickedness of deceiving Ancient Owls. The sermon +took two hours and a half; and when it was over all the owls +hooted at her and pecked her; and Fairy Fluffikins was very glad +indeed when at last Mrs Ancient Owl gave her a push and +said—</p> +<p>“Go along, you impertinent brown minx,” and she +was able to go out into the night.</p> +<p>Even this sad adventure did not cure Fairy Fluffikins of +getting into mischief—although she never teased the owls +any more, you may be sure of that—she took to tormenting +the squirrels instead. She used to find their stores of +nuts and carry them away and fill the holes with pebbles; and +this, when you are a hard-working squirrel with a large family to +support, is very trying to the temper. Then she would tie +acorns to their tails; and she would clap her hands to frighten +them, and pull the baby-squirrels’ ears; till at last they +offered a reward to anyone who could catch Fairy Fluffikins and +bring her to be punished.</p> +<p>No one caught Fairy Fluffikins; but she caught herself, as you +shall hear.</p> +<p>She was poking about round a haystack one night, trying to +find something naughty to do, when she came upon a sweet little +house with pretty wire walls and a wooden door standing +invitingly open. In hopped Fluffikins, thinking she was +going to have some new kind of fun. There was a little +white thing dangling from the roof, and she laid hold of +it. Immediately there was a bang; the wooden door slammed; +and Fluffikins was caught.</p> +<p>How she cried and stamped and pushed at the door, and promised +to be a good fairy and a great many other things! But all +to no purpose: the door was tight shut, and Fluffikins was not +like some fortunate fairies who can get out of anywhere.</p> +<p>There she remained, and in the morning one of the labourers +found her, and, thinking she was some kind of dormouse, he +carried her home to his little girl; and if you call on Mary Ann +Smith you will see Fairy Fluffikins there still in a little +cage. They give her nuts and cheese and bread, and all the +things she doesn’t like, and there is no one to tease and +no mischief to get into; so if there is a miserable little Fairy +anywhere it is Fairy Fluffikins, and I’m not sure it +doesn’t serve her quite right.</p> +<h3><a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 138</span>The +Story of the Tinkle-Tinkle.</h3> +<p>Once upon a time there lived a Tinkle-Tinkle. I cannot +tell you what he was like, because no man knows, not even the +Tinkle-Tinkle himself. Sometimes he lived on the ground, +sometimes in a tree, sometimes in the water, sometimes in a cave; +and I can’t tell you what he lived on, for no man knows, +not even the Tinkle-Tinkle himself.</p> +<p>One day the Tinkle-Tinkle was going through a wood, when he +heard a piteous weeping. He stopped, for he was a kindly +Tinkle-Tinkle, and found two small dormice sobbing under a tree +because they had been cruelly deserted by their parents. He +wiped their eyes tenderly and took them to his cave home; but I +cannot tell you how he went, for no man knows, not even the +Tinkle-Tinkle. However, when he got there he put the +dormice to bed in his grandmother’s boots, for which he had +never found any use before, and fed them on periwinkles and tea, +and was very kind to them; and when they grew older he bought +them caps and aprons, and they became the Tinkle-Tinkle’s +housemaid and parlourmaid.</p> +<p>Now I must tell you that it was a great grief to the +Tinkle-Tinkle not to know what he was, or how he lived, or where +he was going to; and it often made him depressed, but he always +concealed it from the dormice, appearing a most cheerful and +contented creature.</p> +<p>One day he found a poor green bird lying on the ground with +its leg broken. Fortunately Tinkle-Tinkle had his +grandmother’s black silk reticule with him which had never +been of any service to him before. He gently placed the +green bird in the bottom and carried it to the cave.</p> +<p>The dormice laid the poor sufferer on a soft bed and put the +broken leg up carefully in plaster of Paris; and they nursed the +green bird with the greatest attention so that it was soon well +enough to hop about on crutches; and it sang so beautifully that +all the inhabitants round gave it money, and its fame spread +abroad; but it was so tenderly attached to the Tinkle-Tinkle and +the dormice that it would not leave them.</p> +<p>Now it happened on a certain evening that the Tinkle-Tinkle +was travelling over the sea, when suddenly in the depths he +caught sight of a most beautiful Creature. It was all sorts +of colours—white, rosy pink, and deep crimson, and pale +blue fading into white and gold. It had no face but a +bright light; and it had quantities of beautiful iridescent +wings, like the rainbow; and the most lovely voice you ever +heard, like the sighing of the waves in the hollow of the +sea.</p> +<p>The Tinkle-Tinkle was so astonished and entranced that he +stopped, and the beautiful Creature cried out to him, and its +voice made Tinkle-Tinkle remember a dream he had once had of +sunshine, and forest trees, and the song of birds; and the +Creature said, “Ah, Tinkle-Tinkle! you are lonely and +perplexed and sad, and you do not know whence you came nor why +you are here; but the dormice know and the green bird knows, and +I know, and we are glad for your being. Go on, +Tinkle-Tinkle, and do not sorrow, for some day you shall come +back to me, and I will wrap you in my wings and take you where +you belong, and then you will understand.”</p> +<p>When the Tinkle-Tinkle heard this he was glad with a new +strange gladness, and he went back to his cave; but not alone, +for the spirit of hope went with him.</p> +<p>The Tinkle-Tinkle had one gift—he could sing—how, +no man knew, not even the Tinkle-Tinkle himself; and this is how +he discovered his gift.</p> +<p>One day in a secluded spot in the forest he found a dying +stag, and the Tinkle-Tinkle was moved with great compassion and +yet could do nothing.</p> +<p>The great stag’s head drooped lower and lower till even +the sun melted in a mist of pity, and the trees sighed, and the +breezes hushed their voices. Then suddenly the +Tinkle-Tinkle crept close and began to sing, why or how he knew +not. As he sang, the birds and the stream were silenced and +the breezes ceased, and the great stag’s breathing grew +less and less laboured, and his eyes brightened, and presently he +rose slowly to his feet and paced away to join the rest of the +herd, and the Tinkle-Tinkle went with him.</p> +<p>When the stag’s companions heard the story, they wept +for all that had befallen their leader, but rejoiced also and +blessed the Tinkle-Tinkle; and he sang once more for them, and +the Star-spirits leaned out of their bright little windows to +listen, and the night was glad.</p> +<p>Many were the adventures of the Tinkle-Tinkle, and countless +the creatures he cheered and helped, yet he never fancied himself +any use or knew why he was in the world. He brought home a +poor old crab without a claw, and the green bird and the dormice +found a hook and screwed it in, and the poor old crab used to +carry parcels for the neighbours; but he still lived with the +Tinkle-Tinkle.</p> +<p>Another time it was a snail with a broken shell; for him they +built a beautiful little house, and he made little rush brooms +and sold them to the passers-by; but he lived ever after close to +the Tinkle-Tinkle’s front door.</p> +<p>So it went on till all the Tinkle-Tinkle’s homes were +full of strange occupants, and he began to feel very old and worn +and weary. Then he remembered the promise of the beautiful +Creature, and went slowly over the sea hoping the time had come +for it to be fulfilled, and it had. The beautiful Creature +stretched out its lovely rose and purple wings and wrapped the +Tinkle-Tinkle in their warm soft greatness, and bore him down and +down through the depths till they came to the Great Gate. +At the beautiful Creature’s voice it swung slowly back, and +they passed down the Blue Pathway, which is all ice, cut and +carved into lovely pinnacles and spires, very blue with the blue +of the summer sky and the southern seas. The Tinkle-Tinkle +could just see it from between the beautiful Creature’s +wings, stretching away in the blue distance, and at the end one +star.</p> +<p>Presently—and though the time had been one thousand +years it had not seemed long to the Tinkle-Tinkle—they came +out into a beautiful place that was nothing but light, and the +beautiful Creature set the Tinkle-Tinkle down; he looked around +him and saw many other Tinkle-Tinkles, and he knew them for what +they were and loved their beauty; and the Creature gently swept +one of its purple pinions across him, and the Tinkle-Tinkle took +form. He had many, many little soft, strong hands and many +little white feet, and long sweeping wings and a face which shone +with something of the light of the beautiful Creature; and the +Tinkle-Tinkle saw and understood and sang for joy.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREY BRETHREN***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 835-h.htm or 835-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/8/3/835 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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