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Title: The Flower Basket

Author: Unknown

Release date: January 9, 2009 [eBook #27754]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
        http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
        generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLOWER BASKET ***




Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
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[Illustration: FRONTISPIECE. _Page 23._]


_Published by Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme & Brown, London, April, 6,
1816._




    THE FLOWER BASKET.

    A FAIRY TALE.


    --------------I never may believe
    These antick fables, nor these fairy toys.


    London:

    PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN,
    _PATERNOSTER ROW_.

    1816.


    BARNARD AND FARLEY,
    _Skinner-Street, London_.




PREFACE.


Whoever honours the following little Tale with a perusal, will probably
anticipate in the Preface, the so-often-framed apology, that it was not
written with an intention of being published. Yet stale as the assurance
may be, it is in this instance strictly true.

It was composed solely at the request, and for the amusement of, the
children of a friend; nor would it ever have entered my head to offer
any thing in the shape of a Fairy Tale to this enlightened age, when
such productions have long been banished from all juvenile libraries.
Among the innumerable works which do so much credit to the talents and
invention of the writers, that have been substituted for them, it may
admit of a question, whether beings, not professedly ideal, are not
sometimes pourtrayed nearly as imaginary as any that ever "wielded wand,
or worked a spell." I believe (for I have never happened to meet with
the book, since it was first published) I have the sanction of one of
the most celebrated female writers of the age, in her "Thoughts on the
Education of a Young Princess," for supposing that the mind of a child
is less likely to be misled by what is avowedly fictitious, than by
those high wrought characters of perfection, which they would have
little better chance of meeting with in the world, than with the
fantastic agents of Oberon.

However true this may be, I certainly did not feel entitled to oppose
my sentiments to popular opinion; but the few friends, to whose
inspection this trifle was submitted, pronounced it worthy of
publication. I am aware, that it may be said, more partiality than
judgment was evinced in this decision; but there was amongst the number,
one whose knowledge of the public taste cannot be disputed, and whose
name, affixed as the publisher, may be considered as a passport in
itself. Under such unquestionable recommendation, I am induced to hope,
that "The Flower Basket" may find admittance into the literary
collections of the youthful members of society; and, though conscious
that it will add nothing to their store of information, I flatter myself
it will not diminish the correctness of their principles.




THE FLOWER BASKET.

_A FAIRY TALE._


Adrian and Amaranthé were born in an old castle, that had once been the
scene of splendour and festivity, but, together with the fortunes of its
owners, had fallen very much into decay. Their parents, in proud
resentment of the fancied neglect and ingratitude of the world, had
lived retired in the only habitable part of it from the time of their
birth, associating but little with the surrounding neighbourhood. The
world, however, is not ungrateful, nor neglectful of real merit, but it
is wise, and when people squander their fortunes rather with a view to
display their own consequence than to gratify or benefit their fellow
beings, they must not expect that others will come forward to re-instate
them in their grandeur, though they would readily do so to relieve
unavoidable distress.

The establishment consisted of a few domestics, and an old governess
who was retained in that capacity rather from known worthiness of
character and attachment to the family, than from any knowledge or
acquirements she possessed, that befitted her for such an office. There
was besides a little orphan girl, a niece of the lady's, who had been
bred up with them from the time she was five years of age. From the
disadvantages under which they laboured, it may be supposed these poor
children had not many attractions to boast of. Adrian had the benefit of
rather more education than his sister and cousin, as his father would
sometimes devote himself to his instruction, but listless from
disappointment, and out of humour with a world in which he despaired of
his son ever appearing with the distinctions of rank and fortune, his
lessons were never regularly given, or enforced in a manner likely to
make any profitable impression on the mind of a playful thoughtless boy.
He had a good natural disposition, was spirited and generous, and felt
that his wishes were not bounded by the retirement in which he lived,
but from his total ignorance of all beyond it, he was unable to define
what those wishes were. Amaranthé was well-grown, lively, and not
ill-tempered, notwithstanding having been always injudiciously flattered
and indulged by her doating governess. From the stories she had read, or
heard her relate, she had formed a general idea of the advantage of
personal attractions, which, in her own person robust and awkward, had
no great chance of being displayed.

Claribel, who was rather younger than her cousins, was also less of her
age. She was pretty and sweet-tempered, but timid and without energy of
character. Her timidity and her littleness made her the jest of her
companions, and in their play-hours she had often cause to feel and
acknowledge their superiority in age and size; but as their teasing of
her proceeded more from unchecked liveliness than real ill-nature, and
as she was too gentle to retort upon them, their childish squabbles
never amounted to serious disagreements, and they lived in perfect
harmony together. She was too docile to be naughty, would seldom fail to
learn the task that was given her, but never felt a desire to learn
more.

From the continual ill health of the lady, her daughter and niece were
almost wholly consigned to the care and culture of the faithful Ursula.
She had taught all the children to read, write, and spell, and as much
of arithmetic as enabled them to cast up a sum that was not very
difficult. She was also anxious that her "own blessed young ladies"
should be proficients in the various kinds of needlework, on which she
had valued herself in her "better days." In order to accomplish this,
and prevent the work being twitched out of their hands, and themselves
dragged off by Adrian to play at ball or shuttlecock with him, she would
secure the quietness and attention of the party by singing old ballads,
and relating marvellous histories, to which they would listen with an
eagerness and interest that banished all wish for any other kind of
entertainment. Of these she had an abundant store, but what afforded the
highest delight to her auditors, was the dexterous feats, or beneficent
acts, that she would record of fairies, a race of beings that she
professed to have personal knowledge of. She once incautiously hinted,
that had not their father, by his pride, offended one of the order, they
should all have been in a more prosperous state; but no sooner had the
words escaped her than she repented having uttered them, nor could all
the entreaties of her pupils ever prevail upon her to satisfy their
curiosity upon the subject.

Adrian had nearly completed his twentieth year, Amaranthé was eighteen,
and Claribel near sixteen, when a messenger arrived at the castle,
bringing with him a packet addressed to its master, the contents of
which announced the landing of a very old friend at a place on the coast
at a considerable distance. He mentioned having intelligence of infinite
consequence to impart, and his intention of proceeding directly to the
castle for that purpose, but that he had been only a few hours on shore
when he was seized with an illness which prevented his travelling. He
therefore besought the gentleman and his lady to lose no time in
repairing to the place where he was confined, that they might themselves
receive his communications.

On examining the letter they found that some length of time had elapsed
since its date, for those days boasted not of turnpike roads and mail
coaches, and the bearer had had a tedious journey of it. When they
questioned him concerning their friend, they could gain no farther
information, than that, on finding himself too ill to attempt
travelling, he had intrusted him with the packet, with strict
injunctions to deliver it safely, but of the nature of his disorder they
could extort no satisfactory account from him.

The case admitted of no deliberation, and Adrian and Amaranthé found
themselves, for the first time in their lives, going to be separated
from their parents.

The lively emotions of interest produced by the bustle and novelty of
preparation for their departure, and the eager curiosity excited by the
extraordinary occurrence that occasioned it, at first predominated over
every other feeling; but when the carriage came to the door that was to
convey their father and mother from them, a sensation of concern and
dismay extinguished their vivacity at once. The former, with an
agitation and warmth of manner unusual in him, embraced his children and
niece, saying, as he parted from them, "It is for your sakes, my
darlings, that I quit a retreat, from which I believed no consideration
could ever again have drawn me, but my absence shall not be long. If I
find my old friend able to undertake the journey, we will bring him back
with us, and you will soon know how to value such an acquisition to our
domestic party. If he should decline accompanying us at present, we will
wait but to learn what he has to disclose, and return to you forthwith.
It is only the hope of that disclosure producing advantage to you in
future that now tempts me from my home." The lady, whose heart seemed
too much oppressed by her feelings to give vent to them in words,
clasped each of them in silence to her bosom, and with a deep-drawn
sigh, and look of anguish that foreboded evil, followed her husband into
the carriage. It drove off, attended only by the old and faithful
Gabriel, who had for many years acted in the double capacity of butler
and steward.

The young people gazed after it, till the closing of the great gates at
the end of the avenue excluded it from their view. They returned into
the hall, preserving for some time a mournful silence, when Adrian, who
thought tears would be disgraceful to his manhood, rushed into an
adjoining apartment, and resting his folded arms upon a table, hid his
face in them. Amaranthé began to sob audibly, while tears flowed
plentifully down the cheeks of the gentle Claribel.

Though that sweet familiar, yet judicious intercourse, which so happily
unites affection with respect, had but little subsisted between these
young people and their parents, (for in that light Claribel always
considered her uncle and aunt) they both loved and revered them. Never
had they experienced severity from them, and but seldom received even a
reprimand. When the reserve of their father, and languor of their
mother, occasionally gave way to the natural bias of tenderness, and
they would testify pleasure and gratification in the society of the
young people, the latter felt such occasions to be those of their
highest enjoyments. They had sense to discern the difference of the
conversation they were then entertained with from that of Ursula, old
Gabriel, or other domestics, whom they were too much in the habit of
associating with. Sure of meeting only with indulgence and kindness,
they eagerly sought every opportunity of admission to the authors of
their being, and protectors of their infancy.

Sadly passed the hours that succeeded their departure, and few were the
occupations that could beguile the tediousness of time. Adrian had
outgrown his boyish amusements, and found himself very scantily provided
with substitutes for them. He had naturally some taste for literature,
but though, as has before been said, it was sometimes assisted by his
father, it had never been properly cultivated or usefully directed. He
would frequently have recourse to books for employment, but from want of
habitual application soon grew weary even of those that most engaged his
attention.

Amaranthé and Claribel had long satisfied all the pride of Ursula's
heart, by the perfection they had attained in the important branches
of embroidery that she had taken such pains to instruct them in, but
to themselves they failed to afford any source of enjoyment. They
felt that they had nothing to work for, and could take little pride
in performances which they had nobody to commend. The poor governess
had exhausted all her store of histories, as well as all her stock of
knowledge, upon her pupils, and they could no longer be entertained
with narratives which they could now relate in better words
themselves.

The party were generally employed in sauntering about the grounds
together, wishing for their parents' return, and forming different
conjectures concerning the stranger, and the important intelligence
that he was the bearer of.

A fortnight elapsed, and no tidings of the travellers arrived. Another
week passed over, and nothing was heard of them; and the inhabitants of
the castle began to grow uneasy, and feel some alarm for their safety.
It was so unusual a circumstance for letters to be brought thither, that
it occurred to Ursula that some might be lying at the post-office
neglected to be forwarded. A messenger was therefore despatched to the
post town to inquire for such, but none were there.

Six dreary weeks were gone, and governess, pupils, and the remaining
domestics, were obliged to endure all the misery of suspense and
apprehension, without any means of obtaining relief of their anxiety.

At the end of that time, as Adrian, his sister, and cousin, were one
day standing at a window with their eyes fixed on the avenue, they
perceived the gates at the end open, and the carriage that had
conveyed their parents from them entering into it. Transported with
joy they flew to communicate the glad news through the castle, and
then hastened to plant themselves at the great hall door to be in
readiness to receive the welcome wanderers.

Slowly drove the vehicle up the avenue, but so eagerly did they watch
its approach, that they remarked not at the time that Gabriel was not
attending it. At length it stopped; but what was their surprise and
dismay, when, instead of springing into the arms of their parents, as
they were preparing to do, they saw only Gabriel, looking more dead
than alive, and clad in deep mourning, alight from it!

Gazing on him in speechless terror, they mechanically followed his
footsteps into the hall, without one of them having the power to
inquire the cause of his extraordinary and alarming appearance.
The poor old man dropped into the first seat that offered itself,
overcome by his emotions. There he was instantly surrounded by
Ursula, and the rest of the household, who, at the same time,
and in loud voices, beset him with a multitude of questions. It
was some time before he could recover himself sufficiently to
answer them, or look up; at last after wiping his swollen eyes,
and heaving a deep sigh, he began his narrative.

"Dreadful, my beloved children, is the tale I have to relate! I
attended my ever-honoured master and mistress, as you know, on their
journey. Tedious and wearisome it proved, for the roads were bad, the
weather unfavourable, and horses sometimes not to be had, so that it was
two days later than the time we had calculated upon when we reached the
fatal sea-port. Would to heaven we had never entered its gates! The
place and the few inhabitants we saw looked gloomy, as we did so; and on
arriving at the inn, from whence my master's friend had dated his
letter, we were informed, with little ceremony or preparation, that he
expired the day but one after he had despatched the messenger to the
castle. Too soon we learned the direful cause, a malignant epidemic
disorder was raging in the place, and daily sweeping off scores of its
inhabitants. The poor gentleman, they told us, when he found himself
dying, sent for a priest to pray by him, to whose care he consigned a
parcel, with a charge to deliver it in safety to the friends who would
come to inquire for him. I was sent in search of this priest, as soon as
we could procure his direction. Alas! the poor man had himself soon
after fallen a victim to the distemper, and none of his household knew
any thing of a parcel, or had ever heard of the gentleman. The people of
the inn were honest; they had taken good care of what effects he had
with him, and delivered them to my master. The magistrates having issued
strict orders, that all bodies should without loss of time be interred
in an adjacent ground allotted for the purpose, to prevent, as much as
possible, the infection spreading.

"Your dear father appeared overwhelmed with this unexpected calamity;
and my excellent lady declared herself so fatigued in body, and harassed
in mind, that it was absolutely necessary she should have some days of
rest, before she undertook travelling again. In vain did I urge them to
quit instantly a place, the remaining in which might be attended with so
much danger. My master busied himself in inspecting all the property
that had belonged to the deceased. He found clothes, money, and many
letters, but none that gave him any insight into what so nearly
concerned himself. On the second evening he felt ill, and retired early
to his bed, from whence he never again arose. An hour or two served to
convince us, that he was seized with the fatal disorder; and so rapid
was its progress, that a few more decided that no hopes of recovery
could be entertained. My poor dear distracted mistress quitted not his
bedside night or day, though I plainly perceived by her looks on the
third morning, that she had taken the infection. I too was growing very
ill, but of myself I could take no thought. On the fourth day, my
ever-honoured and lamented master breathed his last. Well do I remember
the look of silent agony with which your blessed mother contemplated his
remains! I remember too her being conveyed into another apartment, and a
physician administering a medicine to her. After that, all is a blank in
my mind. I knew nothing that passed, and the first consciousness of
existence I experienced, was awaking, as it appeared, from a stupor, and
finding myself in bed, with an old woman, who looked like a nurse,
sitting at some distance from it. On hearing me move she came to me,
gave me something to moisten my mouth, and going out of the room,
returned with the physician I had seen before, who feeling my pulse,
told the woman the crisis was over, and taking a favourable turn; but
that I must be kept quite quiet. Some days passed before I had strength
to rise, or to hear the particulars the people had to relate. Too soon,
however, was I made acquainted with the awful facts. My mistress
survived her loved lord but three days, and both had long been consigned
to the earth. The physician, who was remarkably humane, had himself
attended to the care of their effects, and visited me constantly during
my delirium.

"To what misery did I recover! and what torture to me was the sight of
every object in this scene of disease and desolation! As soon as my
debilitated frame would permit me, I set out on my dreary journey, to be
the bearer of these dismal tidings."

Gabriel had proceeded thus far in his melancholy detail uninterrupted
by a word, or even a voice, so deeply was the attention of his audience
rivetted upon him; but now sobs and groans resounded on every side.
Adrian held his hands to his head, which seemed bursting with the
violence of his feelings. The castle rang with the screams of Amaranthé,
and Claribel fell senseless into the arms of a maid servant who stood
near her.

Miserable, indeed, was the situation of these unfortunate orphans. Left
without fortune, without protection, in this joyless abode, life
presented a gloomy prospect before them; yet, how were they to enter a
world in which they would feel themselves total strangers, and of the
ways of which they were wholly ignorant? Adrian had gathered just
knowledge enough from the discontented murmurings of his father, to
believe that riches would secure the best reception in it; and his
thoughts were continually turned towards the attainment of them; but,
uninstructed in all the employments of life, what method could he take
in the pursuit? Many vague and romantic schemes presented themselves to
his mind, with which he would entertain his sister and cousin, and to
which they listened with interest, but without the power of assisting or
advising him.

One afternoon, as the mournful trio were sitting together in a saloon,
that opened with glass doors upon the lawn, bewailing the loss of their
parents, and their own helpless state, there suddenly appeared before
them a lady, whose countenance was fair and captivating; her figure
graceful, and her dress light and flowing. They involuntarily rose at
her entrance, though astonishment kept them silent. She approached them
with a gracious smile, holding in her hand a basket, which appeared to
be filled with a profusion of beautiful flowers. "My children," said
she, "I am of a race of beings of whom I know you have heard, though
probably never expected to be acquainted with. I am the Fairy Felicia; I
would have been the friend of your father, but his own conduct prevented
it. My elder sister, Benigna, who is more powerful than I am, had long
been the friend and protector of your mother: she is all excellence, but
more strict, and imposes greater restraint upon those she takes under
her care than I do. She disapproved the marriage with your father, which
offended him so highly, that he forbade his lady ever holding farther
intercourse with her; and Benigna, in return, forbade me ever attempting
to serve or befriend him, which I was well disposed to do. The errors of
the father, however, are not to be visited upon the children. Moved with
compassion for your hapless situation, I am come to take you under my
future patronage, if you choose to accept of it."

Adrian and his sister, bounding with joy, threw themselves at the
fairy's feet, while the former exclaimed, "O, Madam, how can we
sufficiently thank you for thus taking pity on our forlorn state. We
are, indeed, miserable orphans, without a friend in the world; and how
rejoiced must we be to place ourselves under so powerful a protector!"
Claribel too, though not given to raptures, endeavoured to express her
satisfaction, but in a voice so low that it was scarcely audible by the
side of her vociferous cousins.

"Observe then," said the fairy, "that you secure my good offices only
by deserving them. If you prove unworthy of my kindness, I shall feel it
proper to forsake you; and you will be left in a more deplorable state
than this from which I am now desirous to relieve you." The brother and
sister protested again and again, that they should never forgive
themselves if they could be guilty of any thing that would incur the
displeasure of so good and generous a friend.

"I shall judge of your wisdom," answered Felicia, with a smile, "by your
choice." She then displayed her basket, and they discovered that though
they thought it had contained a variety of flowers, there were but three
sorts. These consisted of the finest damask roses, in full blow;
beautiful hyacinths of the brightest azure blue; and simple lilies of
the valley, but whose fragrance was delicious to the senses.

"This," said the fairy, holding up one of the first, "will bestow
immense, but not inexhaustible riches on its possessor. As long as they
make a right use of their wealth, they will find no end to it; but if
spent in licentious profusion, that gratifies only luxury and pride, or
churlishly grasped solely for their own advantage, without a wish to
relieve the necessitous, or benefit their fellow creatures by it, then
will the rose begin to wither, and the riches, and its bloom disappear
at the same time.

"This," said she, producing a hyacinth, "has the power to endow the
person of its possessor with the brightest and most captivating beauty.
Admiration will follow their footsteps, and the homage of crowds be paid
to their charms. But even you, my children, uninformed as you are, must
know that beauty at best is but a fading flower, and the adoration it
excites equally transitory. If in those who derive it from this gift, it
be accompanied with modesty and humility, it will insure to them all the
happiness and gratification that a consciousness of the power to please
must naturally confer. But if, on the contrary, it renders them vain,
haughty, and unfeeling, demanding universal admiration, and jealous of
all who have any claim to share it with them; regardless of the pain
they inflict on those whose affections they have seduced, or glorying in
the victims of their coquetry, they will find this coveted beauty the
source of shame and mortification. Then will the bright tint of this
admired flower turn to a sickly and disgusting hue, and the late
beauteous person share its fate.

"But here," continued the fairy, taking up one of the lilies, "is my
best and most valuable gift. This modest flower will neither change its
hue or lose its fragrance. The person who wisely chuses this, will enjoy
the inestimable blessing of content in whatever situation they are
placed. No envy will torment their heart at the prosperity of others; no
repining at their own less exalted lot; their wishes will be bounded by
the sphere in which they move, and care or disappointment be a stranger
to their breast.

"And now," she added, "it remains for you all to make your election;
remember my words, and prove by your prudence what influence they have
had upon you." "Ah," cried Adrian, "how can I hesitate? poor and
destitute as we are left, it is fortune I know that is wanting to
re-instate us in ease and independence, and to secure us the respect of
the world. But, gracious fairy, do not, I beseech you, think me capable
of making an ill use of the wealth you will bestow upon me. Believe me,
the greatest pleasure I feel in the thoughts of possessing it, is the
power it will give me of assisting others, and making all around me
happy." "Rash boy," answered Felicia, "how can you pretend to judge of
what your feelings and conduct will be in a situation so wholly new to
you? The obscurity in which you have lived, has ill fitted you to
encounter the snares and temptations of an interested world. You will be
the prey of designers, and repent when too late of the inconsiderate
choice you have made. But now, Amaranthé, for your decision." Amaranthé
felt a little awkward in declaring her choice, after what the fairy had
said; but at length, in some confusion, replied, "I have always longed
to be handsome. My governess has told me such pretty stories of
beautiful ladies, and of their being so followed and admired, and every
body being desirous to serve and please them, that I am sure they must
be the happiest of all creatures." "Your governess was very foolish,"
said the fairy; "she had better have told you of the heart-aches and
discontent that generally fall to the lot of beauties." "How can that
be?" inquired the astonished girl, "surely being courted and caressed by
others, must make one anxious to please and oblige in return. I should
be too happy to be proud and ill-natured." Poor Amaranthé spoke the
truth at the time. Her innocent mind was unacquainted with the failings,
that the fairy had stated as being usually attendant on beauty. Having
never met with competitors, she had not experienced the grievances of
rivalship or jealousy; and vanity and coquetry were hardly known to her
by name.

"I perceive," said the offended fairy, "you are as opinionated as your
brother. I fear the time may come when you will both repent not having
paid more regard to my admonitions. And which of these, my gentle
Claribel, (turning to her,) shall I present to you?" Claribel timidly
answered, "I am not ambitious of riches, they would but embarrass me;
neither do I covet beauty--to be an object of general notice, would to
me be only distressing. A contented mind must surely be the greatest of
all blessings: at least, I can neither imagine or desire a greater. I
shall therefore gratefully accept one of your favourite flowers,"
looking at the lilies.

"Amiable girl," exclaimed the fairy, "there is no fear of your ever
repenting of your choice. How may your cousins wish they had partaken of
your prudence; but it is not yet too late to repair their error. I give
you," addressing Adrian and Amaranthé, "the remainder of the evening to
consider of what I have said. Before you retire to rest, your choice
must be finally fixed, for to-morrow it will be irrevocable." With these
words, she and the flower-basket disappeared in a moment from their
sight.

They remained for some minutes motionless, almost doubting their senses,
or whether such an extraordinary visitation had really occurred to them;
at length, arousing from their stupor, they agreed to seek Ursula, and
relate the adventure to her.

The joy of the poor governess almost exceeded that of her pupils. "Ah,"
cried she, "it is indeed the sweet fairy Felicia; well do I know her. Do
not you remember my children, that I once nearly betrayed the secret of
her existence to you? Benigna is, as she says, an excellent fairy, but
terribly strict in her notions. She was the friend and guardian of my
dear lady from her infancy; but your father could not endure what he
called her severity, or forgive her opposition to his marriage with your
mother. All intercourse ceased between them; and Felicia was obliged to
withdraw her protection from your father. This gave him a disgust to the
whole race of fairies, and he would not suffer you to know that he had
ever had any connexion with them."

The simple Ursula could not disapprove the choice of Adrian and
Amaranthé. To see him surrounded with splendour, and her with admirers,
would gratify the fondest wishes of her heart. Gabriel was now summoned
to the conference. He by no means agreed with Ursula in her approbation.
"Alas, my dear, young master," said he to Adrian, "it was riches that
proved the bane of your father's happiness and comfort. He mistook the
court that was paid him while in possession of them, for the real
respect and good will that he fancied was his due, though to say truth
he took no other means of obtaining them. When his fortune was gone, his
pretended friends soon followed; and that occasioned the reserve and
moroseness with which you must have observed his temper was tinctured.
Inexperienced as you are in the world, wealth may prove but a
treacherous snare; and as the fairy wisely says, you will probably fall
a prey to wicked designers." "A truce, I beseech you," cried the
impatient Adrian, "with these dismal forebodings. Neither you nor the
fairy can make me believe, that being happy myself, and having the power
to make others so, can prove my destruction. Depend upon it, old man,"
continued he, with an arch smile, and laying his hand on Gabriel's
shoulder, "when you begin to reap the advantages of my fortune, which
you shall certainly do, you will be vastly glad that I did not listen to
your preaching!" Gabriel shook his head with a look of distrust. "And
what, my sweet young lady," addressing Amaranthé, "can beauty do for
you? I remember your dear mother the fairest of the fair, and yet her
lot in life was far from a happy one." "O dear Gabriel," interrupted
she, "you are ten times more disagreeable than the fairy. Here is the
very thing offered to me that I have all my life been wishing for, and
then I am told I must not accept of it. What evil can attend being
handsome? I shall like to look at myself in the glass; I shall like to
see other people looking at me; shall be pleased and happy all the day
long; and what harm is there in that?"

"Well," said Gabriel with a sigh, "I am still of opinion that your
cousin has made the wisest choice." "O yes, the wisest choice for
Claribel, doubtless. As long as she may go creeping unnoticed about the
world, taking no trouble herself, or being troubled by others, that is
all she desires. I have no notion of such tame satisfaction." To this
Claribel only answered by a smile.

They all retired at the usual hour to their beds, but to Adrian and his
sister it was not to rest. The thoughts of what the morrow would produce
kept them waking the greater part of the night. Soon as the sun darted
his first rays into the chamber, Adrian sprang from his bed, and looking
eagerly around, discovered the desired rose appearing with luxuriant
glow upon the toilet before him. Enraptured, he hastened to seize his
prize, when he perceived a folded paper lying by it, in which on
opening, he found these lines:

    Since Adrian, spite of warning voice,
    This specious gift decides thy choice,
    Slight not the counsel that would fain
    Preserve thee from remorse and pain.

      While boasting coffers richly stor'd,
    And plenty smiling on thy board,
    In grandeur's costly garbs array'd,
    With servile homage basely paid
    From summon'd tribes of venal bands,
    That wanton luxury commands,
    Let thy untainted mind beware
    And shun corruption's lurking snare.

      If, when of long-sought wealth possess'd,
    Thou fail to succour the distress'd;
    And flatterers feed in splendid state,
    Yet drive the needy from thy gate,
    Soon will destructive vice impart,
    Her baneful influence to thy heart,
    Chasing those purer feelings thence
    The meed of blameless innocence.
    Then shall this drooping rose decree
    The loss of fortune and of me;
    For harden'd heart and vicious mind
    From fairies ne'er protection find.

      Yet let discretion bounty guide,
    Nor succour sloth, nor pamper pride,
    To suff'ring want give ready ear,
    And dry the modest suppliant's tear,
    Yet still the grateful boon dispense
    With lib'ral hand, but guarded sense.

      Then may this dangerous treasure deal
    Those blessings virtuous mortals feel,
    And favour'd Adrian haply prove
    Deserving of esteem and love.

Charming fairy, he exclaimed, mistrust me not; I value this precious
gift too highly ever to abuse it; so saying he ran off to find
Amaranthé, whom he met coming as hastily from her apartment with the
hyacinth in her hand. Look, look, shouted Adrian, here is my darling
rose;--and see, answered his sister, I have got my sweet hyacinth, but
with it I found this paper, containing some mighty crabbed, dismal
words, that I could very well have dispensed with. "Aye, my gift was
accompanied with a sort of a lecture too. It is very strange that so
powerful a fairy should not be able to discern my good intentions,
without my making so many protestations of them,--but what says your
paper?" and unfolding it read as follows:

      Beauty, that peerless gem whose magic smile
    Can teach the frigid heart with warmth to glow,
    Or smooth the frowning Cynic's sullen brow,
    And the cold glance of cautious age beguile;

    Still decks the nymph who wears her potent spell
    With sparkling eye, and gaily dimpled cheek
    That sportive ease and conscious pow'r bespeak,
    Nor dreads that time her cherish'd pride may quell.

    While flatt'ring crowds proclaim unrivall'd sway
    With haughty triumph glows her radiant bloom,
    But soon the bright illusion fades away
    And yields to vanity's unwelcome doom.
    So, Amaranthé, may this flower decay
    And blighted beauty seek the shelt'ring tomb.

They then proceeded together to the apartment of Claribel, whom they
found in a sweet slumber, from which their exclamations soon aroused
her. "Look at this stupid girl," cried Amaranthé, "if she be not
sleeping as soundly and unconcernedly as if she had never heard of the
wonderful events this morning was to produce." "And yet," said Adrian,
"I dare to say the fairy has not forgotten her," and casting his eyes
round soon espied the lily. "Aye, there is the favourite flower, and I
hope accompanied by some sage admonitions as well as ours."--Then
advancing towards it, "Sure enough, here is the attendant scroll," and
opening it immediately, read aloud:

    When mild contentment rules the breast
    Unchecked the pleasure, sweet the rest,
        The passing hours that close;
    No fruitless wish disturbs the maid,
    No blasted hopes her peace invade
        Who courts the calm repose.

    The placid smile, the brow serene,
    Unstudied glance, unruffled mien,
        Glad approbation gain;
    From rankling spleen, and envy free,
    The venomed pang of jealousy
        Essays to wound in vain.

    Fair as the lily's polished hue
    Impending fate shall meet her view
        Who shuns ambition's lure;
    And thus shall gentle Claribel
    In tranquil ease serenely dwell
        From vain regrets secure.

Well, the fairy promises you fair at least, cousin, said he, and your
lily smells very sweet, and I hope we shall all be very happy together
with our separate gifts!

Fairies had such dexterous, ingenious methods of bringing to pass,
whatever they projected, that it is not necessary to inquire by what
means Adrian soon found himself master of wealth to the utmost extent of
his wishes, or that the plain features and awkward person of Amaranthé
were changed into the most dazzling beauty of countenance, and perfect
symmetry of form. In Claribel the effects of the fairy's power were the
least visible. Her nature had always been so placid, that it could admit
of no great increase of contentment, but she was perfectly at peace with
herself and others, and free from any portion of envy at the riches of
one cousin, or the beauty of the other.

The news was soon circulated through the surrounding country that
the old melancholy castle was now become the scene of affluence and
hospitality. In consequence it was not long before visitors and
petitioners poured in from every quarter. The now superbly furnished
mansion, and magnificent establishment of Adrian, did not prove more
attractive than the charms of his sister, which excited the wonder and
admiration of all beholders. The native modesty of a young person bred
up in seclusion, for some time prevailed over every other sensation, and
she almost repented of the gift she had solicited. She shrunk abashed
from the perpetual and ardent gaze of all who approached her, and the
admiration she had thought so desirable, was at first oppressive and
painful to her. Pure and genuine feelings of uncorrupted nature, why are
ye ever subdued? what art or ornament can ever replace the fascinating
blush that mantles on the cheek of innocence!

Adrian found himself at the summit of his wishes. His dwelling was
thronged with joyous spirits like himself, who courted and flattered
him, always extolling in exaggerated terms his generosity and powers of
pleasing. Invitations came from far and near, and neighbouring families
vied with each other in giving costly entertainments to this charming
brother and sister, nor was Claribel ever left out of the party. Adrian
forgot not the injunctions of his patroness. He gave orders that no
object of charity should ever be turned without relief from the castle,
but absorbed in the pursuit of pleasure, he gave himself no leisure to
learn the nature of their wants, or to ascertain that that they were in
fact objects of charity.

Amongst other sources of festivity, games were instituted in which the
skill and activity of the rival youths were exerted, and on such
occasions the prize adjudged to the victor, was generally laid as a
trophy at the feet of the beautiful Amaranthé. This indeed was a trial
to poor mortal vanity. She soon grew so accustomed to the distinction
paid to her charms, that instead of oppresive it became necessary to
her. The brother and sister who fondly loved each other, who from their
infancy had shared all their little joys, and little griefs together,
were mutually delighted at the praises the other received. Amaranthé
loved to hear of the excellent qualities of the heart, and liberal
temper and vivacity of her brother, and Adrian's heart bounded with joy
and swelled with pride at the homage paid to the beauty of his sister.
But too soon these exquisite feelings, derived from the purest source of
affection human nature is capable of, were extinguished. Engaged in the
pursuit of their separate enjoyments, they ceased to feel an interest in
those of each other. Claribel was the quiet spectator of the
distinctions of her cousins. She served as a sort of cabinet to
Amaranthé, in which she deposited all the little histories of her
triumphs, and the flattery that had been amply bestowed upon her; and
Claribel would listen to the details with kind complacency, and
sometimes an idea would occur to her that the extravagant joy and
gratification they appeared to produce in her cousin, must be worth
sharing, but the gift of the fairy secured her from any anxious wish to
do so.--Though she occasionally obtained notice from those whom she met
in the parties in which she mixed, for no one could fail to feel
courtesy towards so mild and inoffensive a being, she was aware that she
was considered as little more than a cypher by the side of her cousins,
but she was not liable to discontent, and repined not at the
observation.

Adrian had been too much occupied by his lively companions to think of
making inquiries after the objects of his bounty, but a long list was
brought him by Gabriel of mendicants, who had been relieved, which
amounted to a sum that astonished him. Is it possible, said he, there
can be so many unfortunate creatures in want? It is well the fairy has
supplied me so liberally, or I might soon come to be in want myself, but
I think, he proudly added, she must be satisfied with my manner of
employing my wealth. One day a person desired to be admitted to him, who
told him a long pitiful story of his being reduced from easy
circumstances by a rich and powerful man, who in revenge for some
offence he had given him, had contrived his ruin, and driven him with a
large helpless family to beggary. The natural good disposition of Adrian
was manifested at this recital. He exclaimed, with honest warmth against
such shameful cruelty, and gave the man a large sum of money to
alleviate his unmerited misfortune. The petitioner was profuse in his
acknowledgments, expatiated on the benefit of riches, when entrusted in
such hands, and retired invoking a thousand blessings on his benefactor.

Adrian felt all the satisfaction of the most approving self-complacency.
Excellent Felicia, he exclaimed aloud, your's is indeed a most precious
gift, to be enabled to perform such actions, and merit such gratitude,
and I flatter myself you will allow that I have strictly obeyed your
injunctions!

The next day Gabriel informed him that he had discovered the person to
be a worthless impostor, who had ruined himself by extravagance and
profligacy, and in return for Adrian's generosity, had gone about making
a jest of his credulity. Adrian uttered the most vehement expressions of
resentment and indignation. To find himself only a dupe when he had
thought himself a pattern of benevolence, was a sore check upon his self
applause, and he formed many prudent resolutions to be more upon his
guard in future. Some days after, in passing through his grounds, he was
accosted by a man who exhibited an appearance of extreme wretchedness.
His face was wan, and his features sunken. His dimmed eye seemed hardly
able to discern the object on which it gazed; and his tottering limbs
with difficulty supported his feeble frame. His moving lips appeared to
be framing a prayer for compassion, but his hollow voice had not power
to give it sound. Adrian involuntarily stopped, regarding him with looks
of commiseration, but suddenly recollecting himself--No, said he, I will
not again be imposed upon; I must not forget that the fairy enjoins
discretion as well as charity, and hastily passed on, congratulating
himself on this effort of prudence.

It was not long before he learned that the unfortunate being had, in
despair of obtaining any relief of his sufferings, sought an obscure
shelter, in which he soon terminated his miserable existence.

Adrian's heart smote him severely; he felt that he would have given half
his possessions to have recalled the past hours; and the circumstance
for a short period dwelt heavily on his mind; but contrition was soon
effaced by dissipation.

When this brother and sister, who had suddenly burst in such radiance
upon the astonished neighbourhood, had ceased to be novelties, it was
not long before they ceased also to excite the interest and good liking
that their first appearance had created.

All the rational members of their acquaintance, who had been agreeably
struck with Adrian's good humoured vivacity and generous spirit, grew
disappointed and displeased at finding they must look for nothing
beyond. Uninformed in almost every branch of knowledge, destitute of the
acquirements generally possessed by, and absolutely indispensable in a
young man at his time of life, and of the rank in which he appeared in
it, they discovered that though he could laugh with the joyous, he was
incapable of conversing with the serious, and it was chiefly by the idle
and ignorant like himself, that his society continued to be sought.

The astonishment that the outward attractions of Amaranthé had produced
in all beholders, was soon succeeded by astonishment that she possessed
no others. No improved understanding, no cultivated taste, accompanied
the charms of person, and it was agreed that she must be looked at, and
not listened to. The graces of figure could not compensate for the want
of graces of mind, nor a polished skin be deemed a substitute for a
polished manner. The gift of the fairy had secured her from awkwardness
of gesture, but it could not conceal awkwardness of expression and
address.

Still, however, both continued to have followers in abundance. The
castle was the constant resort of gay dissipated youths, who, in the
good spirits and good cheer of Adrian, enjoyed all they wished or cared
for; and who took pains to initiate him in all their vicious courses. He
had no real relish for the pleasures of the bottle, but was soon laughed
out of his moderation; and rather than be thought wanting in spirit,
poor Adrian plunged into excesses for which he had no natural taste, and
in which he found little acquired gratification. They thought proper
also to find fault with the decorations of the castle, on which Adrian
had valued himself, and suggested many useless and expensive
alterations. These were immediately ordered, but when the poor
tradesmen, who had worked hard to oblige him, made their demands, his
choice companions exclaimed in terms of violent wrath against them,
assuring him it was extremely insolent in those people to expect payment
as soon as their work was done, and that he ought to make them wait his
leisure. The fact was, these wicked advisers, who were ignorant of the
source from whence his fortune was derived, were afraid, if he paid his
debts, he would not have money left to squander upon them. Adrian had
not the slightest intention of defrauding any of the persons to whom he
was indebted; he felt secure of being able to pay them whenever he chose
it, and honestly intended to do so; but too weak in mind to bid defiance
to the ridicule of those whom he ought to have despised, he suffered
himself to be guided by them. In vain did Gabriel remonstrate; Gabriel
had long lost his influence, though his young master's heart was not yet
so corrupted as to dismiss the worthy man from his service, which his
associates, who called him a tiresome preaching old fellow, would fain
have persuaded him to do.

Several gentlemen who wished to pay their addresses to Amaranthé, had
applied to Adrian for his interest, and also for information respecting
the fortune they were to receive with her. Adrian expressed great
indignation at such inquiries being made. He had really, in his heart,
formed the most generous intentions towards his sister, but in the
enthusiasm with which he first contemplated her beauty, and from the
sincere affection he then felt for her, he conceived that she deserved
the most disinterested attachment, and refused to make any promise of
bestowing a portion upon her.

The first person who paid any serious attention to Amaranthé, was in
her opinion, as, generally speaking, I fancy in that of all other young
ladies in the same case, the most charming creature in the world. He was
followed by a second, and she found him as charming; but when a
succession of adorers appeared, she was completely perplexed. Her heart
was incapable of making an election, and she began to think it would be
very dull to fix upon one, and by that means lose the adulation and
flattery of all the others. She therefore received them all alike, and
divided her attention and her smiles equally amongst them. Thus the
innocent Amaranthé, who was unacquainted with the name of coquetry, soon
grew expert in the practice. On her first entrance into society she had
formed an intimate acquaintance with Ethelinde, the daughter of a family
distinguished for goodness and benevolence, and who lived in a handsome,
though not profuse style. Ethelinde had nothing of the dazzling beauty
of Amaranthé to boast of, her features were not so perfect, nor her
complexion so brilliant, but her countenance was enlightened by
intelligence, and her smiles were the smiles of modesty, and sweetness
of temper. She was always unstudied and unaffected, and in her person
and appearance were combined ease and elegance, with the irresistible
charm of the most engaging feminine softness. Her understanding was
excellent, and well cultivated, her manners correct, and her heart the
seat of virtue and purity. Perfectly free from any meanness of temper,
she felt no envy at the beauty of Amaranthé, but was, on the contrary,
an unfeigned admirer of it, and eagerly sought her friendship.
Amaranthé, who for some time felt gratified and obliged by Ethelinde's
early notice, was equally desirous of cultivating her's, but ere many
weeks had elapsed, they mutually discovered that they were not
companions for each other. Ethelinde grew weary of hearing no other
conversation than descriptions of the fine dresses her friend had worn
at the different entertainments she had been at, or repetitions of all
the nonsense that had been addressed to her there, and Amaranthé thought
her deplorably dull and disagreeable, for wanting to talk of any thing
else. Ethelinde was both too kind-hearted and too well-bred to appear to
shun Amaranthé, and Amaranthé, who felt quite secure of never finding a
rival in Ethelinde, continued to call her friend. She began, however, by
degrees to suspect that she had been a little mistaken in this
satisfactory point. It is true that whenever she appeared in public she
was immediately surrounded by all the gentlemen in the room, but she
could not avoid observing, that when Ethelinde was there also, many of
them would turn to her, and when once engaged in conversation with her,
never again quit her side, for that of her friend. This was sufficient
ground for her conceiving a rooted dislike to the unassuming and
unsuspicious Ethelinde.

An important addition was now made to the society into which Adrian and
Amaranthé had been introduced, by the arrival of a young gentleman
lately returned from travelling, to take possession of a large estate,
and noble mansion annexed to it, in that country. Lionel had every thing
that could recommend him to the favour of all to whom he was made known.
Handsome and elegant in his person, his mind was stored with
information, his taste refined, his conversation instructive and
entertaining, and his manners affable and polished. Every father openly
courted him as a companion and example to his son, and every mother
secretly wished him to become the husband of her daughter.

Lionel was charmed with the brother and sister on his first
introduction to them. He liked the frank cordiality of Adrian, and
became the professed slave of Amaranthé's beauty. It required no length
of time for penetration like Lionel's to discover his error in regard to
Adrian; he found he had mistaken vivacity for genius, and frankness of
manner for generosity of heart, when in fact his favourite proved
unformed and untaught, indifferent to the opinion of all whom he ought
to have valued, and given up to idleness and self-indulgence. Such a
companion was quitted without any effort of resolution, but the sister's
power over him did not yield so easily. Amaranthé's vanity had been too
much flattered by such a conquest, for her to endeavour to conceal the
satisfaction it afforded her, and the enamoured Lionel was willing to
attribute the approbation she evinced, to genuine affection. He
confessed himself disappointed in her mental qualities, but he laid all
that to the want of education, and the blame upon those who brought her
up. He delighted in the thought of instructing and cultivating her mind
himself, and dwelt with rapture on the prospect of possessing such a
creature, formed exactly to his own taste, and according to his own
rules of right. The devoted lover indulged himself, in these pleasing
expectations during several interviews that he had with his idol, when
not interrupted by the presence of any other candidates for her favour;
but when he saw her in company with some of her previous adorers, and
observed the evident pleasure and complacency with which she listened to
them all by turns, nothing could exceed his surprise and indignation.
What! had she no more regard for him than for any of these senseless
coxcombs? Were the smiles and attention that had so captivated him to be
equally shared by them? This was not to be borne. He could have endured
her ignorance, even a fool might be tolerated, but an unfeeling coquette
never could. From that moment Amaranthé, with all her beauty, was
dismissed from his heart for ever.

During his attendance on Amaranthé, Lionel had often remarked with
approbation the meek and unaffected demeanor of Claribel. He had never
indeed heard her converse much, but he judged that her silence was owing
to timidity, and fancied that under so retired a manner, might be
concealed solid sense, taste, and judgment. Her person, though not
strikingly handsome, was pleasing, and her temper and disposition
appeared to be perfectly amiable. He began therefore to pay her very
serious attention, but here again poor Lionel had only to lament his
mistake. He found Claribel quite as untutored as her cousins, without a
spark more desire of improvement. He was not likely to meet with a
repulse from so gentle a creature, but the acquiescence with which she
received his assiduities seemed more the result of habitual passiveness
than of reciprocal attachment. She betrayed no emotion of pleasure at
his approach, or of concern at his departure. She listened to his
conversation as he hoped with interest, but when describing what he
considered as requisite points to insure happiness and respectability,
he could perceive no symptoms of regret that their sentiments so little
corresponded, nor could his avowed opinions awaken in her any exertion
to render herself more acceptable to him. When he had taken sufficient
time to study her character, he decided that the inelegant mirth, and
ungoverned vanity of Amaranthé were preferable to the dawdling
insipidity of Claribel. After this decision Lionel ceased to be a
visitor at the castle.

The pride of Amaranthé had never before experienced so severe a wound.
Her consequence was lessened in her own eyes, and she felt that it would
be so in those of others, by the desertion of such a lover, for she had
sense enough to discern the superiority of Lionel over all her other
admirers. She could appreciate his worth, but she could not controul her
own too long indulged inclinations, and was still too artless to conceal
the wrong bias they had taken. The disappointment had a visible effect
upon her temper: she grew peevish, and dissatisfied with every thing
about her. She resolved to leave no means untried to regain the heart of
Lionel, and the suggestion of a rival in his affection made her
absolutely outrageous. She had so little considered Claribel in that
light, that she had not deigned to notice Lionel's attention to her,
which indeed her vanity whispered was merely a feint to pique herself,
and to give him an opportunity of still hovering near her. The gift of
the fairy, which had operated so much to Claribel's disadvantage in the
opinion of her lover, secured her from sharing the keen mortification of
her cousin at his loss.

Some time after this had happened, an invitation was sent to the
inhabitants of the castle to an entertainment, which was to consist of a
trial of skill in archery in the morning, and a ball in the evening.
Adrian, who was now wholly devoted to his ill-chosen companions, had
made some engagement he liked better with them, and would not go, and
Claribel was confined at home by indisposition. Amaranthé looked forward
with the most flattering anticipation to this proving the scene of her
triumph, and restoring all her power over Lionel, who she knew was to be
a principal guest there. She exhausted all her invention in contriving
the most becoming dresses for both occasions, and selected every
ornament that she thought would add lustre to her beauty. The anxiously
expected morning arrived, and Amaranthé set forth in all her glory. She
found a large company assembled in the part of the grounds marked out
for the archery, where a tent was erected ingeniously fitted up, and a
handsome collation prepared in it. The gentlemen who were to engage in
the contest were all properly equipped for the purpose. Amongst the most
conspicuous was Lionel, who with his bow in his hand and quiver on his
shoulder, was compared by some of the company to the god of love. In a
group of ladies opposite to her, Amaranthé discerned Ethelinde very
simply attired, but looking so elegant, so unaffectedly good humoured,
and desirous to please and be pleased, that no one could behold her
without being prepossessed in her favour. She accosted Amaranthé with
the utmost kindness, who very coldly accepted her proffered hand, for
she felt an inward acknowledgment of superiority that fretted her beyond
endurance. Nor could she at all account for it, having settled in her
own mind, quite to her satisfaction, that she had never seen any thing
half so ugly or so ill dressed.

The game began, and after each candidate for victory had exerted his
strength and skill, Lionel was unanimously proclaimed the conqueror. The
mistress of the feast had tastefully entwined a wreath of laurel, which
stepping forward she, with an appropriate and polite compliment, placed
upon the head of Lionel. Amaranthé's heart beat violently, for she felt
assured of receiving her accustomed homage, and had ready all her
sweetest smiles, and most engaging complaisance, as she saw Lionel
approach the spot where she was seated. She found, however, that she
might as well have reserved them for a fitter occasion, for he passed
her without notice, and with a graceful bow, and look that bespoke
respect and esteem, laid his trophy at the feet of Ethelinde. Amaranthé
had no strength of mind to command herself on such a trial, nor could
she conceal the disappointment and vexation it cost her, and was still
more insupportably irritated by the general murmur of approbation that
accompanied this action of Lionel. She refused to partake of the
refreshments, and went home burning with feelings of resentment against
him, and of most malignant animosity towards Ethelinde. Still her vanity
was not subdued: she determined that the ball, where she meant to appear
in a blaze of glittering ornaments, that she believed would render her
beauty irresistible, should repay her for all the mortifications of the
morning. She recounted the insult, as she thought fit to call it, that
had been offered to her, in terms of bitter wrath to Claribel, who
attended her toilet; but comforted herself with the near prospect of
recrimination, and declared she should have far more pleasure in
crushing the pride of that insolent little ugly moppet Ethelinde, than
in captivating the first lord in the land. Claribel listened with
patience and pity to the detail of her lamentable misfortunes, and
disclosure of her amiable intentions, and at last ventured to say--"But,
my dear cousin, are you not afraid of incurring the displeasure of the
fairy, by falling into the errors she cautioned you against? You may
remember she threatened to withdraw her favour if you were guilty of
jealousy and envy, and do you know, I do not think you look near so well
as you used to do."

To this remark Amaranthé for some moments answered only by surveying
her cousin with a look of ineffable scorn, at last, her lips quivering
with anger, she said--"Really, my dainty Claribel, whatever the fairy
may do by me, I am afraid her precious gift to you has failed in its
effect. I thought _you_, at any rate, were to be secured from the
dominion of envy and spite." "Upon my word, cousin," answered Claribel
mildly, "I am unconscious of ever having been subject to either. Since
the fairy first appeared to us, I never felt less disposed to envy her
favours to you than at this moment, and what can there be spiteful in
thinking you do not look so well as you used to do?"

Ursula, who was present, assented to the opinion of Claribel. "Indeed,
my sweet young lady," said she, "your cousin is right. I have lately
observed, with pain and apprehension, your altered looks. I believe the
racketing life you have led so long disagrees with you, and am seriously
fearful that you will injure your health if you continue it."

It was in vain to urge any arguments against the self-conceit of
Amaranthé: that her beauty could be in any degree diminished was a
supposition that she would not admit into her thoughts. She added more
ornaments to the profusion that already glittered on her person, and
doubted not that, with such aids, she should eclipse every belle who
would appear at the entertainment. Under this happy persuasion she
entered the ball-room, but did not long remain under its cheering
influence. No emotion seemed excited by her appearance, no gaze followed
her footsteps; those of her former admirers, whom she saw there, rather
shunned than approached her, and those who were strangers did not appear
to notice her. After she had been seated some little time however, she
was in joyful expectation of having her best wishes fulfilled, for she
saw Lionel advancing, who, on coming opposite to her, stopped short, and
fixed his eyes intently upon her.

Much as her heart fluttered, and her cheeks glowed at this almost
unhoped for circumstance, she could not avoid discovering that his looks
betrayed more of astonishment than of admiration. Suddenly seeming to
recollect himself he slightly bowed, and passing on went up to
Ethelinde, whom he immediately engaged for his partner. Fortunately for
Amaranthé the bustle and confusion of the dance just then beginning,
screened her from the observations that her violent agitation must
otherwise have drawn upon her. The dance indeed began, but no one
solicited the honour of her fair hand. Amazed, appalled, she knew not
what to make of it, at length, rising up, she drew near a party who were
in earnest conversation, and did not perceive her. "Is it possible," she
heard one of them say, "that that ordinary awkward looking girl, so
bedizened with finery, should be the beautiful Amaranthé, of whom I have
heard so much, and who my chief purpose in coming hither was to see?"
"Believe me," answered another, "what I tell you is true. What has
happened to her I cannot conjecture, but I do assure you that not many
weeks ago she was the most beautiful creature my eyes ever beheld."

"Oh, oh," said Amaranthé to herself, "now I discern the truth. This
is a vile conspiracy amongst my enemies. Some of my wicked rivals,
unable to submit to my superior attractions, have planned this scheme on
purpose to mortify me, but they shall find themselves defeated in their
atrocious designs." She then reared up her head, and stalked along the
room with all the stately airs she could assume, but all in vain. Few of
the company noticed her at all, and to those who did, she was evidently
an object of ridicule. She had not command enough over herself to endure
this long with patience. Abruptly quitting the assembly, she returned
home in a state of mind and temper that threatened her with insanity.
When arrived there she tore off all her gaudy apparel without once
looking in the glass, and threw herself into bed, where for some hours
she lay tumbling and tossing, but at last fell into a doze, from which
she did not awake until mid-day. As soon as she arose she summoned
Claribel, that she might give vent to her fury at the detestable events
of the evening. Claribel heard the relation of her disgrace with
unfeigned concern, but all the time she was speaking looked earnestly at
her with marks of excessive surprise. After some hesitation, she,
trembling as she spoke, said, "Pray, cousin, have you lately looked at
your hyacinth?" The question operated like an electric shock upon
Amaranthé. The truth flashed across her mind. She considered a moment,
and then rushed to the cabinet where Felicia's pernicious gift was
deposited. There indeed she found it with its "bright tint turned to a
sickly and disgusting hue." She contemplated it with an aspect of wild
despair, then with an effort of desperate resolution flew back to the
glass, where, for the first time for many months, she looked at herself
with eyes not blinded by vanity. What a spectacle presented itself to
her view! Gladly would she have found herself only reduced to her
original plainness. Her eyes then, though they sparkled not with the
lustre with which the fairy afterwards endowed them, were yet brightened
by the vivacity of youth. The texture of her skin was not so delicate,
but her cheeks glowed with ruddy health, and though no fascinating
dimples accompanied her smiles, they were the playful smiles of
innocence. Now, sad reverse! her eyes were dimmed and sunk in her head,
her cheeks hollow and of ghastly paleness, and the malevolent passions
that had corroded her heart, were traced in deep furrows over her
countenance. Almost frozen with horror she uttered a piercing shriek,
and fell lifeless on the floor. Claribel affrighted, endeavoured to
raise her, and called for assistance, but no one came near her. She
thought she heard an unusual disturbance in the castle. Sounds of
strange voices speaking loud, trampling of feet, and clapping of doors
met her ear, and appeared as if a general uproar prevailed throughout.
After she had for some time tried in vain to recover Amaranthé, Ursula
hastily entered the apartment, her face pale with terror and dismay,
which were increased by seeing the alarming state of her young mistress.
Claribel, while she assisted in restoring her, briefly related what had
happened, and the poor governess, on hearing it, broke out into bitter
lamentations. "Ah! wicked, treacherous fairy," said she, "how have you
abused my poor innocent children! would that you had never appeared with
your vile gifts, only to betray them to their ruin, and plunge them into
a thousand times greater misery than they could have experienced had
they never seen you."

Claribel earnestly enquired her meaning, and the cause of the
confusion she had heard, and with difficulty, amidst her sobs and moans,
gathered what Ursula had herself learned from Gabriel. The creditors of
Adrian, hearing of the extravagant style in which he lived, concluded he
must soon expend his fortune, and that they should then have no chance
of receiving what was due to them. They, therefore, determined to come
in a body, and insist upon immediate payment. Adrian, though extremely
enraged, resolved, in spite of the opposition of his associates, to
satisfy all their demands at once that he might be rid of them. He
accordingly repaired to the coffers where his treasures were secured,
but on opening found them all empty. He exclaimed loudly that he had
been basely robbed; then flew to every chest, desk, or bureau in which
he had been used to seek a supply, but found not a single piece of
money, or article of value of any kind: while searching the last place
of safety he could think of, he was suddenly struck with the sight of
his rose, which had fallen from the stalk, and every leaf withered and
dead: frantic with despair, he rushed all over the castle proclaiming
himself ruined, but hardly sensible of what he said or did. On hearing
this, the profligate crew, who had called themselves his friends,
speedily made off, nor would stay even to offer him consolation. The
creditors incensed at being thus defrauded of their right, thought it
best to make themselves what amends they could, and began tearing away
all the costly furniture, and seizing upon every thing valuable they
could find. The servants too, thinking they should have no other method
of being paid, had joined in the general plunder, and were all taking
their departure as soon as they could secure what they had pillaged.

Amaranthé revived before Ursula had finished her dismal narrative, but
she attended not to it, nor seemed conscious of any thing that passed.
Claribel and Ursula continued administering restoratives to her, when
the door opened, and the form of Adrian, but far more resembling that of
a spectre, slowly entered. He placed himself on a seat, and fixed his
haggard eyes upon his sister. She raised her's to him, but no sound gave
utterance to the feelings their looks mutually expressed. It was not the
mild grief that could be soothed by sympathy; it was the gloomy anguish
of remorse, the humiliating sense of unworthiness, the incurable torture
of shame. Claribel and Ursula looked at them in speechless sorrow, for
no ray of comfort presented itself to alleviate their sufferings.

Thus were these unfortunate young people, by the indulgence of their
own wishes, and the attainment of what they supposed could produce only
gratification and happiness, reduced to a state of apparently
irremediable distress. Even Claribel shared in the general misery. Not
that the gift of the fairy had lost its influence upon her; the lily was
fresh as ever. She was contented in her own person, and formed no wishes
for herself; but she could not behold the wretched condition of her
friends unmoved. Though not subject to strong emotions, her heart was
tender and affectionate. Her cousins were her sole objects of
attachment, and it was still unabated towards them. Ursula could do
nothing but bewail their sad destiny; she was weak and helpless. Gabriel
was the only rational person of the party. He collected together the
little that remained out of the wreck of the possessions, and tried to
put things in some order to make them more comfortable. The generous old
man never reminded them of the advice he had given, or took to himself
the credit that was his due for his better judgment.

Claribel had used all the arguments she could devise to reconcile
Amaranthé to her altered state, but with little success. One remarkably
fine day she prevailed upon her to go out into the air: they walked to a
part of the grounds that had in their childhood been appropriated as
their play place. Here, while resting on a bench, they were joined by
Adrian. The brother and sister now found words to relieve the weight of
woe that oppressed them, but it was by heaping invectives on the
deceitful Felicia. From accusing the fairy they began to upbraid each
other. "You, Amaranthé," said Adrian, "have no right to complain: you
might at least have been spared the misfortune of poverty. Had it not
been for your abominable vanity and coquetry, you might have been
happily and nobly settled."

"You are unjust to say so, Adrian," retorted his sister; "you know very
well it was your refusing to bestow a fortune upon me, that prevented
many of my lovers from soliciting my hand in marriage; but you were
given up to selfishness, and cared not what became of me."

"For pity's sake, my dear cousins," cried Claribel, "do not quarrel.
Remember, destitute orphans as we are, we have nothing left in this
world but each other, and if we are not united, what is to become of
us?"

Adrian was touched; looking tenderly on his sister, "Claribel is
right," said he. "We are, indeed, bereaved of every thing else, and
shall we forsake each other? Ah, Amaranthé!" he continued, his eyes
swimming in tears, "time was when all our joys and all our wishes
centred in each other. How fondly you once loved me--and is it at an
end? Will you love me no more?" The native good feelings of Amaranthé's
heart, that had so long lain dormant, were now revived. Bursting into an
agony of crying, she threw her arms round her brother's neck, and sobbed
out, "Yes, yes, dear Adrian; I love you better than ever. Oh, do but be
kind to me, and I will cease to deplore the loss of my beauty." After
embracing her affectionately, Adrian, looking mournfully round,
observed--"This was the scene of our childish sports. How joyously we
bounded like fawns over this lawn! When turning our hoops or tossing our
balls, how little cared I for riches or you for beauty! And there,"
pointing with his hand, "is the shrubbery where we used to play at hide
and seek, and laugh at poor Claribel for not being able to find us. See
the woodbine that you and she used to twine round my hat and crook, when
I played at being a shepherd."

"And those," said Amaranthé, "are the trees you so often climbed to get
birds' eggs for Claribel and me to string, when we pretended to be
hermits, and called them our rosaries!"

"Happy, happy days of blessed innocence!" groaned out her brother;
"would to heaven ye could be recalled! Never again would I barter ye for
grandeur and licentiousness!"

While the unhappy trio continued weeping over these painful
recollections, they suddenly observed an extraordinary appearance in the
air. A large machine, resembling a car, was hovering in it, and at
length descending slowly to the earth fixed itself at no great distance
from them. They then saw a lady clad in a purple robe, with a long white
wand in her hand, step out of it and advance towards them. They were
immediately struck with the belief that it was the fairy, but with what
different sensations did the brother and sister now greet her, to those
which her first appearance had occasioned! Confused and dismayed, they
would have fled from her presence had not terror rendered them
motionless, for they doubted not that she was come to reproach them, if
not to punish their ill conduct. When she drew nearer, and they ventured
to look at her again, they discovered that the figure was taller and
more dignified than that of Felicia. Her face was not so fair, and its
expression was more solemn, but her countenance was more commanding, and
her aspect altogether inspired awe and veneration. "Perhaps," whispered
Claribel, "it is the fairy Benigna." The minds of her cousins assented
to this suggestion, but it by no means diminished their apprehensions.
If they had so much cause to dread the censure of Felicia, what had they
to hope from the severe Benigna?

Trembling, and not daring to speak or move, they stood before her,
while she regarded them for some time in silence, with looks that lost
much of their solemnity, and expressed pity and benevolence. Then, in a
mild tone, said, "Poor hapless victims of ignorance and error, your
consciences tell you that I am come to inflict the chastisement due to
your folly and guilt; but lay aside your fears. I can allow for and
compassionate the offences of feeble mortality. I am come to take you
from this scene of desolation and disgrace, which can only remind you of
lost happiness. Are you willing to trust yourselves with me?" Whatever
the private inclinations of the party might be, they were too much in
awe of this powerful being to offer any resistance to her will: they
only bowed in token of submission. She then placed them all in the car,
and mounting it herself after them, waved her wand when the machine
arose with a gentle motion into the air, which it wafted them through,
but at what rate, or whither to, they could not judge. They were so
amazed, and their senses so bewildered, that they almost doubted if they
were awake, or whether all that had passed were not a dream!

They could not calculate how long they had been travelling in this easy
manner, when they found the vehicle again descending to the earth, where
it rested before a white house, that had every appearance of neatness
and comfort, though not of magnificence.

It was situated in the middle of a garden, laid out in excellent taste,
and well stored with fruits, flowers, and shrubs of all kinds, bounded
by verdant meadows, with a fine river passing through them, and the
surrounding country richly cultivated, and luxuriantly beautiful.

Their conductress desired them to enter the house, where the first
objects that met their view, were Ursula and Gabriel, who had been
conveyed thither by the agents of the fairy, and who welcomed them with
raptures of joy.

Benigna led them through the apartments which were sufficiently spacious
for convenience, and fitted up with elegance and propriety. The last she
introduced them into was, a library, furnished with a large collection
of books, maps, globes, &c. "And now, my young friends," said she, "do
you think you can be happy in such a habitation as this?" Adrian,
willing to ingratiate himself in her opinion, promptly replied, "Ah,
Madam, we shall be most happy to receive any favour from you. You, no
doubt, will always continue your generous kindness, and not desert us
like the treacherous Felicia."

"Presumptuous mortal!" answered Benigna, with a frown, "what right
have you or your sister to call Felicia treacherous? Did you not
obstinately persist in choosing the gifts she warned you against? And
did either of you practise the good precepts she gave you with them? Had
they been observed, you are conscious that you might still have been
rich, and Amaranthé handsome. But come," she added, observing the effect
her words had upon them, "be not alarmed. My design is not to arraign,
but to instruct. The fact is, my sister is not treacherous, but she is
injudicious. Her power is very limited, and the few gifts she has to
bestow, are more likely to ensnare than to benefit those whom she means
to serve. She gave you, indeed, good advice, but she could not endow you
with the good sense that would enable you to follow it. Even you, my
quiet Claribel, have not, I fancy, profited much by her favor. Say, were
you very happy in the possession of your lily?" Claribel, after
considering a little, answered, "I do not know that I was absolutely
happy. I was, indeed, always contented, as she promised I should be, and
never felt inclined to repine, or be vexed at any thing; but I do not
remember ever experiencing any particular pleasure." "No," returned the
fairy, "nor would any one under such circumstances. The content Felicia
bestowed on you, was not the happy result of a well-regulated mind,
satisfied with its own exertions, and the performance of those duties
incumbent on all rational beings. It was indolence, mistaken for a
virtue. A being endued with reason, of which it obeys not the dictates;
with faculties, of which it makes no use, but is content to occupy its
station in life without fulfilling the purposes for which it was placed
there, is scarcely less censurable than those who waste their time in
riot and dissipation. Others may reap some advantage from their follies,
but no benefit can be derived from a mere moving machine."

The vaunted favorite of Felicia found herself no higher in the esteem
of Benigna than her indiscreet cousins, and felt ready to sink under her
reproving eye; but, resuming her benevolent aspect, the fairy continuing
her discourse, said, "take courage, my children, you are none of you
irreclaimable, and may hope, by your future conduct, to make some amends
for past transgressions. The fault has not been so much in yourselves,
as in those whose duty it was to have prepared you for the trials and
temptations, that you had little chance of passing through the world
without encountering. Now, let me try if this wand cannot confer more
lasting happiness than the roses and hyacinths of my sister." So saying,
she waved it gently over their heads. In a moment, they all felt like
new-created beings. They seemed to awaken to a different sense of
existence. They became painfully sensible of their own deficiencies, and
of the deplorable want of education, yet the pain was alleviated by the
cheering influence of the light let in upon them, and the earnest desire
they felt for improvement.

"You are now," said Benigna, "all conscious of the folly and uselessness
of your past lives; and if my wand has done its duty, you are equally
willing to repair the evils they have been the cause of. As I before
said, you have been less to blame than others. You wanted instruction in
every thing, but the chief and most important instruction you wanted,
was--principle! Had that been properly inculcated into you, all the ills
that have befallen you, might have been avoided. In this apartment,
(looking round,) you will find store for your minds, and employment of
the most pleasing kind for your time; but this (placing her hand on a
very large volume that was on a desk before her) must be your first and
most assiduous study. In these writings you will find how unnecessary is
the aid of fairies to your welfare, when by humbly imploring that of the
all-powerful Being who never forsakes those who resort to him, you will
secure those endless blessings that magic has not to bestow.

"But you probably wish to know where you are. Learn then that this
abode, and the fortune annexed to it, is no gift of mine; it is the
bequest of your uncle, who died in a foreign country. He, as well as the
rest of her friends, disapproved of his sister's connexion with a person
who had always conducted himself very ill towards him; and when the
marriage took place, his resentment was so great, that he forsook his
native country, accompanied by the friend whose return to it cost you
the loss of your parents. On his death-bed, your uncle's heart relented
in favour of his sister, to whom and her children, he bequeathed his
property, with an equal portion to his niece, Claribel. He consigned the
deed of gift to that friend, exacting a promise from him, that he would
deliver it only into your mother's hands. You already know how he was
prevented doing that; and when the priest, to whom he entrusted it, also
died, I took care to secure the deed for the purpose of restoring it to
your mother; but death defeated all our intentions.

"I should not have withheld your own property so long from you, had not
my sister taken you so hastily under her protection; but as I surmised
what the result of her patronage would be, I determined to reserve this
resource against the hour of distress, to which I had little doubt her
favours would reduce you. And now, my children, it only remains for you
to make a right use of these valuable possessions. You have not
boundless riches, but have sufficient to satisfy all your own reasonable
wants, and to administer to the wants of your suffering fellow beings. I
have furnished you with the means, as well as the desire of improvement.
Let the remembrance of your past errors, and the folly of your first
wishes, operate on your future conduct. Fail not to observe these
injunctions, and you will secure the love and esteem of all whose good
opinion you wish to obtain; and though I may never appear to you again,
my attendant spirit and good offices shall not be withdrawn."

So saying, the excellent fairy Benigna, casting on them all a look of
maternal affection, again gently waved her powerful wand, and vanished!

The fairy indeed vanished, and the wand was seen no more; but their
influence was still felt by the now happy and deserving orphans. They
assiduously obeyed her commands in seeking knowledge and instruction and
took care that their first study should be that volume to which she had
directed their attention. There Adrian learned that "in Godliness is
great riches," and Amaranthé found in "the beauty of holiness"--that
pure gratification and unabated happiness, that beauty of person, had no
chance of bestowing. Claribel, by "faith and good works," experienced
content, accompanied by real enjoyment, instead of the negative
satisfaction derived from her lily. She became as animated and active as
she had before been indolent and helpless.

Adrian, in acquiring wisdom, was able to indulge his natural good
propensities. He knew how to manage the fortune he possessed, and by
learning to be frugal could afford to be generous. His vivacity, now
tempered by good sense, was the delight of all to whom he was known; and
the happiness springing from a cultivated mind and corrected heart,
rendered him once more a joyous, but never a licentious spirit.

Amaranthé, though never restored to the radiant beauty of the hyacinth,
regained her original healthy and sprightly looks. The ease of her heart
was manifested in her countenance. She could behold beauty in others
without a repining sigh, nor coveted any other admiration than what her
uniform good conduct and commendable desire to please and oblige, always
procured for her.

Ursula had often the gratification of seeing her sweet young ladies
employed in the embroidery she had so industriously taught them for the
benefit of their indigent neighbours; and the faithful Gabriel enjoyed
the exquisite delight of knowing that his honoured young master and
mistresses obtained the blessings of the poor, and the respect of the
rich.

Thus these children of the old castle, whose lives began under such
unpromising auspices, and for whom I hope my young readers are
excessively interested, ended them as prosperously as mere human beings
can ever hope to do. They were happy because they were rational; and
being rational, they felt well disposed to laugh heartily at all absurd
stories about Fairies, Flower Baskets, and White Wands!


THE END.


    BARNARD AND FARLEY,
    _Skinner-Street_, _London_.




Transcriber's Note:

Spelling variations for choose/chuse, as well as archaic spelling
for controul and pourtrayed have been retained as the appear in
the original publication.







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