Wreaths of Friendship: A Gift for the Young

Dimly his lamp in the dark vault burns,
And he sits on the miner's hard floor,
Toiling, toiling, toiling on;
Toiling for precious ore!

The air is wet; for the dew and rain,
Drank by the thirsty ground,
Have won their way to his dark retreat,
And are trickling all around–

And sickly vapors are near his lips,
And close to his wire-net lamp,
Unseen, as an evil spirit comes,
Up stealeth the dread fire-damp!

But the miner works on, though death is by,
And fears not the monster grim;
For the wiry gauze, round his steady light,
Makes a safety-lamp for him.

Rough and rude, and of little worth,
Seems the ore that the miner brings
From the hidden places where lie concealed
Earth's rare and precious things;

But, tried awhile in the glowing fire,
It is rough and rude no more;
Art moulds the iron, and forms the gold,
And fashions the silver ore.

And useful, rare, and beautiful things,
'Neath the hand of skill arise:
Oh! a thousand thousand human wants
The miner's toil supplies!

VISIT TO FAIRY LAND.

VISIT TO FAIRY LAND

So, then, you want to hear some stories about the fairies, do you, little girl? Well, I must humor you a little, I suppose; though I should not wonder if my fairy stories were somewhat different from those you have heard before. But have you the least idea that there were ever such beings as the fairies in the world? If you have, let me tell you, you are quite mistaken. The stories that have been told about these fairy people are none of them worthy of belief, though it must be admitted that millions have believed them. Many of the men and women who pretended to have seen the fairies, and who related the stories in the first place, believed all they said, I have no doubt. But they were generally ignorant persons, very superstitious, and easily imposed upon. There are, it is true, invisible inhabitants in this world. Those who believe the Bible, can hardly doubt the presence of angels among us. But angels, as they are represented in the Scriptures, are a very different class of spirits from those called fairies, if we may credit what has been said of this singular race of beings, by those who pretend to have seen them in fairy land.

Not a great while ago, the people of England and Scotland were very superstitious. It is not two centuries since our good forefathers on that island were burning witches by scores. At that time, a great many believed in the existence of fairies, or elves. I have been at some pains to find out at what time this fairy superstition first appeared among the Britons. But it seems not very easy to determine. One thing is certain, that the belief in some kind of spirits—either the same with the fairies, under a different name, or very nearly related to them—dates back to a very early period in British history—earlier, probably, than the Christian era.

The fairies are always represented as very small and very beautiful—generally, as perfect miniatures of the human form. The color of their dress is uniformly pure green. It would seem, according to the accounts of these people, some five or six hundred years ago, that they were kind, amiable, excellent neighbors. Indeed, one of the names they went by was, "the Good Neighbors," and another was, "the Men of Peace." Still, they used to do some mischief in those days, if we may believe their historians, who tell us that the fairies, once in a while, visited the abodes of men, and carried away captives into their invisible haunts, under ground. The reason for this kidnapping of human beings was said to be, that the fairies were obliged occasionally to pay a tribute of this kind to their king or queen.

The fairies were not always cunning enough to keep their victims, after they had caught them. Sometimes people would come back from fairy land, and tell all about what they had seen there. You might suppose that a great deal would be learned of these strange, invisible creatures, from the men and women who had been with them and escaped. Well, so there was. But the worst of it was, the stories did not hang together very well; and there were about as many different and contradictory accounts of fairydom as there were different individuals who pretended to have made a visit to that country. However, all seemed to agree that fairy land was a very merry country. The people there were great lovers of fun, according to the general testimony, and used to dance a great deal by moonlight, in the open air. They are engaged in one of their dances, you see, in the engraving. Every evening, as soon as the moon rose, they assembled at some convenient place, took hold of each other's hands, usually in a ring, I think, and then they had a right merry time of it, you may depend. It did not seem to make any difference, whether the spot selected for the dance was on the land or on the sea. Indeed, they could dance pretty well in the air, without any thing to stand upon. The assemblies held in the palaces of the king and queen of the fairies, were, at times, splendid in the extreme. No poet, in his most lofty flights of fancy, ever dreamed of such beauty and splendor as were exhibited at the fairy court. They rode on milk-white steeds. Their dresses were of brilliant green, and were rich beyond conception. When they mingled in the dance, or moved in procession among the shady groves, or over the delightful meadows, covered with the fairest of flowers, music, such as mortal lips cannot utter, floated on the breeze.

However, these splendors, astonishing as they were, all vanished in a moment, whenever the eye of any one gifted with the power of spiritual communion was turned upon them. Then their treasures of gold and silver became slate-stones, and their stately halls were turned into damp caverns. They themselves, instead of being the beautiful creatures they were before, became ugly as a hedge-fence.

The king of fairy land was called Oberon—the queen, Titania. The king used to wear a crown of jewels on his head, and he always carried a horn in his hand, which set every body around him to dancing, whenever he blew it. Ben Jonson, a poet who flourished a great many years ago, speaks very respectfully of fairies and elves, in his poems. In describing the haunts of his "Sad Shepherd," he says—

"There, in the stocks of trees, white fays do dwell,
And span-long elves that dance about a pool."

Shakspeare, too, in several of his plays, makes us quite familiar with the fairy people. Shakspeare, you are aware, wrote in the time of Elizabeth, and as late as that period, there were thousands in England and Scotland in whose creed the existence of such a race of spirits was a very important article. It was not long, however, after this, before the superstition about the fairies—which, at the worst, was a very foolish affair—began to decline. But that decline brought a dark night to thousands of poor, innocent men and women; for then came the era of witchcraft, and persons of every rank, convicted of this imaginary crime, were hurried to the scaffold or the stake.

In the beginning of the seventeenth century, Dr. Corbett, Bishop of Oxford and Norwich, wrote a very humorous satire on the fairy superstition, called "The Fairies' Farewell, a proper new ballad to be sung or whistled to the tune of Meadow Brow." Perhaps I cannot better take leave of these very curious imaginary people, than to employ a couple of stanzas from the bishop's playful ballad:

"Witness those rings and roundelays
Of theirs, which yet remain,
Were footed in Queen Mary's days,
On many a grassy plain;
But since of late Elizabeth,
And later James came in,
They never danced on any heath,
As when the time hath been.

"By which we note the fairies
Were of the old profession;
Their songs were Ave Marias,
Their dances were processions;
But now, alas! they all are dead,
Or gone beyond the seas,
Or further for religion fled,
Or else they take their ease."

THE HERMIT

A Traveler was once passing through a great wilderness, in which he supposed no human being dwelt. But, while riding along in its gloomiest part, he was surprised to see a hermit, his face covered with a long beard, that hung down upon his breast, sitting on a stone at the entrance of what seemed a cave.

The hermit arose as the traveler drew up his horse, and speaking kindly to him, invited him to accept such refreshment as it was in his power to offer. The traveler did not refuse, but, dismounting, tied his horse to a tree, and, following the pious man, entered the narrow door of a little cave which nature had formed in the side of a mountain. All the hermit had to set before the traveler, was water from a pure stream that came merrily leaping down the hill side, and some wild fruit and nuts.

"Tell me," said the traveler, after he had eaten, "why a man with a sound body, such as you possess, and a sound mind, should hide away from his fellow-men, in a dreary wild like this?"

"For pious meditation and repentance," replied the hermit. "All is vanity in the world. Its beauties charm but to allure from heaven. And worse than this, it is full of evil. Turn where you will, pain, sorrow, and crime meet your eyes. But here, in the silence of nature, there is nothing to draw the mind from holy thoughts; there is no danger of falling into temptation. By pious meditation and prayer, we are purified and made fit for heaven."

"Not so," answered the traveler; "pious meditation and prayer are of no avail without good be done to our fellow-men. Piety is nothing without charity; and charity consists in willing well and doing well to our neighbors. 'And now abideth faith, hope, and charity,' says the Apostle, 'but the greatest of these is charity,' Hermit, you are not wise thus to retire from the midst of the busy world. Your service cannot be acceptable to God. Go back again among your fellow-men, and faithfully perform your real duties in life. Heal the sick, comfort the mourner, bind up the broken heart, and in the various walks of life do good to friend and enemy. Without this, how can you hope in the judgment to hear the Lord say, 'As much as ye have done it unto the least of these, ye have done it unto me?'"

The hermit, at such unexpected words, bowed his head, and was silent. The traveler went on, and said—

"You have committed a common error, in supposing that in holy meditation, as it is called, there was any thing particularly pleasing to God. But reason will tell you why the widow's mite is more acceptable in heaven than the most pious thoughts of idle self-righteousness. Hermit! go back again into the world, and there act your part as a man in the great social body. Only by this means will you be prepared to live and act in the great body of angels in heaven."

The hermit could not reply, but still sat with his head bowed to his bosom, and his eyes upon the ground. The words of the stranger fell with strokes of reproof upon his heart.

When the traveler returned that way, he sought for the hermit, but found him not at the door of his cave. He entered, but the place had been a long time deserted. The erring man had gone back into the world, and taken his place among his fellows. And he had done right. No man is wise who retires from society, and shuts himself up in the hope of becoming better through prayer and pious thoughts. Only by doing our duty to our fellow-men, in some particular pursuit in life, can we hope to grow better and wiser?

A PICTURE.

A PICTURE