Holidays at the Grange; or, A Week's Delight. Emily Mayer Higgins
amid the gayeties of Paris, he hears the Ranz des Vaches; the simple notes recall the Alpine home, the mother and the friends: he sickens and dies.
Rudolph's sad countenance soon attracted the notice of his kind protectress, who eagerly asked what she could do to promote his happiness. He told his trouble, and especially dwelt upon his loneliness; he longed to see his papa and mamma, and little Bertha; and he wanted companions of his own age—human children, with whom he could laugh and play, whom he could toss in the snow in winter, and with whom he could rove the fields in summer, picking the flowers and chasing the butterflies. The Fairy Queen shook her head: "You ask an impossibility, Rudolph; my very existence was endangered by bringing you here, and how can I convey other mortals to the crystal palace, the inner temple of nature? It cannot be—however, now I think of a plan; yes, to-morrow you shall have your wish, only you must smile and be happy once more, Rudolph."
On the morrow, with the early dawn, a troop of merry, rosy children awaited his waking: how soon they were friends! children, and child-like hearts, are not long in knowing each other. They were all pretty, but different, both in appearance and disposition; they were crowned with flowers and green leaves, of various sorts. "What funny names you have!" said Rudolph, as they introduced themselves. "Yes; but we did not name ourselves," they replied; "it is not our fault if we have hard names—you'll soon learn them." And so he did: there was Cochlearia, a sharp-witted girl, who made rather biting speeches occasionally; there was Daucus, a red-headed youngster, and Raphanus, a pretty child of brilliant complexion, crowned with violet-colored flowers; there was Brassica, and Zea, and Maranta, and Capsicum, a fiery fellow, and Nasturtium, crowned with bright orange-flowers, and a great many others. Rudolph liked most of them very much, but his especial favorites were little Solanum and Farinacea, brother and sister, both crowned with blue flowers. He thought they were so good, he could never get tired of them; perhaps Brassica and Zea were sweeter, and Raphanus was more piquant, but these two friends of his could never cloy his taste; he should always love them. As for Cochlearia, he could not abide her: she was so pert. Several times she came near disturbing the harmony of the little band by her speeches: she reproached Daucus with his carroty head, and told Capsicum that his temper was too hot, and called Nasturtium only a weedy fellow, after all. Hereupon, Solanum, who was a very amiable soul, told her she was enough to bring tears into anybody's eyes; and at that, she turned round, and informed him that he was such a mealy-mouthed fellow, he was no judge at all. At last Rudolph was obliged to tell her that he had never known a child whose society he relished so little, and that he would be compelled to complain of her, unless she went away; accordingly she did so, and then they enjoyed uninterrupted peace. How happy was that day! how varied the amusements! what joyful shouts! what heart-felt laughter! Rudolph, long debarred from the company of other children, was almost out of his wits with excitement.
But the sun now approached the west, and with one accord they hastened away, notwithstanding all his entreaties. "Why must they go? They could sleep with him; there was plenty of room in the palace; they should not leave." "They would return to-morrow, but now they must go; before the sun set—good-by, good-by." "You shall not go," cried Rudolph, seizing hold of Solanum and Farinacea, who struggled hard to evade him, while their companions swiftly passed them, and vanished through a little postern gate he had never seen before, into the forest beyond. "Why should you want to go? Do you not love me?" said Rudolph, as the two struggled yet more earnestly to escape his grasp. "I assure you we have hearts, but we cannot now stay," was all they could utter, for at that moment the sun sank below the horizon, and the beautiful children vanished from his sight: in their place, there fell to the ground—two potatoes! Scarcely believing his eyes, he quickly opened the little gate, calling to his friends to return; but no voice replied, and no children were to be seen. Instead, scattered about upon the ground, were radishes, carrots, turnips, parsneps, cabbages—all that remained of his playmates. The disappointed child burst into a fit of passionate weeping. Was all deception, illusion? Was there nothing real, naught to satisfy the heart? Was he ever to be alone, consumed by vain longings for affection he was destined never to receive? What did he care for all that beauty and grandeur—one heart-given human kiss was worth it all.
The child was still sobbing bitterly when the Fairy Queen drew near. Her starry crown was dim, like the evening star seen through a mist; the sparkle had gone out of her eye and her face. She was sad, for she knew that she must lose her little protégé; she was vexed, for she had been completely baffled. "And cannot I make you happy?" she said. "Is all the power, and the grandeur, and the wisdom, and the beauty you see in Fairy Land, insufficient to satisfy that foolish heart of yours? Silly boy! he longs for human love. Go then—even if I could keep you, I think I scarcely would; I can teach you nothing." "And may I really go? Go to my own dear, sweet mamma? Oh, how happy I am!" "You little ungrateful wretch! is that all the thanks I get for the pains I have taken to make a man of you?" "Of course you are very good: but indeed I always told you I wanted to remain a little boy." "Out of my sight!" said she, stamping her tiny foot upon the rock on which she was standing—sympathizing with her passion, it threw out sparks, which hardened into diamonds when they cooled. "My experiment has proved a signal failure; I see a child will be a child, in spite of all the charms of science: if ever I take another—if ever I try again to bring up a philosopher, may I lose my crown!"
Rudolph, affrighted, had run through the little gate, which immediately closed behind him. He looked around; the scene was strangely familiar. He found himself at the border of a wood, in a place where three roads crossed. "It was there," thought he, "that, a year or two ago, I dashed into the forest on Saladin, and got lost: and since then I have been in Fairy Land." At that moment he lifted up his eyes, and saw old Fritz approach, leading Saladin; he ran forward to meet him, and Fritz, on his part, seemed overjoyed at seeing his young master. "You dear old soul! how glad I am to see you! Why, you don't look a day older than when we parted!" "It would be queer if I did, as we only parted company an hour ago, when you rode off and left your poor old Fritz. How you have frightened me! I thought you had gone home the nearest way, and rode there to see: but no, you were not at the castle. So I came back again, very much worried about you on account of the shower that came up so suddenly, and met your horse, quite near the wood. I'm glad to find you at last!" "Is it possible it was only an hour ago? I can hardly believe it." "Oh yes, no more, though it has seemed longer to me, I have been so anxious." Rudolph laughed. "I do believe I have been asleep! and I have had the funniest dream! Do you know, I thought I was in Fairy Land? It was all so sweet, and so grand, and learned, and tiresome—Oh, I am glad it was only a dream. I did want so much to get home again, and have some fun."
"How could he wish to leave such a charming place, where there was every thing that was lovely on earth?" cried Gertrude. "I think he had very little taste."
"There was all there," said Aunt Lucy, "but the very things he wanted—his father and mother, his playmates, kind old Fritz, and his horse and dog—not to speak of a very important thing in a boy's eyes, liberty to play without being pestered with continual lectures."
"I think your Fairy Queen has a tart temper of her own, sister Ellen," said Tom. "When she was rating the poor little fellow for ingratitude, I thought of that passage in Virgil, where the rage of the gods is spoken of—'Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ!'"
"Do translate, for the benefit of the unlearned. It is so mannish to quote Latin," said Cornelia.
"'Can such anger dwell in celestial souls?' You see I am all obedience," answered Tom.
"You should remember, my dear critic, that fairies never yet claimed to be perfect beings. They are very far from being angels, and are decidedly of the earth, earthy. You know that the inferior specimens of the race—the vulgar fairies—delight in playing tricks upon careless housekeepers, spilling their cream and spoiling their butter: that is not very angelic, I'm sure. Of course, the Queen would be too dignified and too spiritual for such frolics; but she could not understand much about human nature, or child-nature, and especially she would think the affections to be great nonsense. But she has bought her experience now, with Rudolph."
"One comfort is, that she does not intend to take another child to educate—she has had enough!" said Amy.
"She could not, if she would," replied Mary. "I think the day