Journeys Through Bookland Volume Ii Part 23

d. The Hyacinth.

e. The b.u.t.tercup.

f. The Jonquil.

V. Gerda Continues Her Search in Autumn.

1. Gerda meets the Crow and follows him.

a. The princess's castle, b. The prince is not Kay.

c. Gerda in rich clothes continues her search in a carriage.

VI. Gerda meets the Robbers.

1. The old woman claims Gerda.

2. The robber girl fancies Gerda.

3. The Wood Pigeons tell about Kay.

4. The Reindeer carries Gerda on her search.

VII. Gerda's Journey on the Reindeer.

1. The Lapland woman, a. Cares for Gerda.

b. Sends message on a codfish.

2. The Finland woman.

a. Cares for Gerda.

b. Tells what has happened to Kay.

c. Tells what ails Kay and says Kay may be saved by the power of innocent girlhood.

VIII. Kay's Rescue.

1. At the Snow Queen's palace.

a. Kay cannot write eternity.

b. The Snow Queen leaves for Italy.

c. Gerda finds Kay.

d. Her tears melt his icy heart.

e. Her song brings tears that clear his eyes.

f. Kay knows Gerda.

g. Pieces of ice spell the word eternity.

h. Gerda's kisses restore Kay to warmth and health.

2. The return journey.

a. The reindeer.

b. The Finland woman.

c. The Lapland woman.

d. The prince and princess.

e. The robber girl.

3. Gerda and Kay at home.

A GOOD LESSON TO LEARN

There is little use in reading if we do not get from it something that makes us wiser, better or n.o.bler, or that gives us an inspiration to work harder and make more of ourselves. I think the author of The Snow Queen meant that we should get something more than a half-hour's enjoyment out of his beautiful story.

He makes us like little Kay and his sweet friend Gerda, and then saddens us with Kay's misfortunes. We do not like to see him become crossgrained, mean in disposition and stony hearted.

Then we learn to admire the faithfulness and courage and bravery of Gerda, and follow her to the Snow Queen's palace, afraid every moment she will not find Kay.

When she does find him, it is her tears of sympathy that melt his icy heart, her sweet faith in the Christ-child that clears his eyes, and her love that brings him back to life.

Of course this is all a fairy story; but children and all the race of grownups, even, may learn that it is only by innocence, sympathy and love that the wickedness in the world can be overcome.

THE CHIMERA

By Nathaniel Hawthorne

Once, in the old, old times (for all the strange things which I tell you about happened long before anybody can remember), a fountain gushed out of a hillside in the marvelous land of Greece. And, for aught I know, after so many thousand years it is still gushing out of the very selfsame spot. At any rate, there was the pleasant fountain welling freshly forth and sparkling adown the hillside in the golden sunset when a handsome young man named Bellerophon drew near its margin. In his hand he held a bridle studded with brilliant gems and adorned with a golden bit. Seeing an old man and another of middle age and a little boy near the fountain, and likewise a maiden who was dipping up some of the water in a pitcher, he paused and begged that he might refresh himself with a draught.

"This is very delicious water," he said to the maiden as he rinsed and filled her pitcher after drinking out of it. "Will you be kind enough to tell me whether the fountain has any name?"

"Yes, it is called the Fountain of Pirene," answered the maiden; and then she added, "My grandmother has told me that this clear fountain was once a beautiful woman; and when her son was killed by the arrows of the huntress Diana, she melted all away into tears. And so the water which you find so cool and sweet is the sorrow of that poor mother's heart!"

"I should not have dreamed," observed the young stranger, "that so clear a wellspring, with its gush and gurgle and its cheery dance out of the shade into the sunlight, had so much as one tear-drop in its bosom. And, this, then, is Pirene? I thank you, pretty maiden, for telling me its name. I have come from a far-away country to find this very spot."

A middle-aged country fellow (he had driven his cow to drink out of the spring) stared hard at young Bellerophon and at the handsome bridle which he carried in his hand.

"The watercourses must be getting low, friend, in your part of the world," remarked he, "if you come so far only to find the Fountain of Pirene. But pray, have you lost a horse? I see you carry the bridle in your hand; and a very pretty one it is, with that double row of bright stones upon it. If the horse was as fine as the bridle, you are much to be pitied for losing him."

"I have lost no horse," said Bellerophon with a smile, "but I happen to be seeking a very famous one, which, as wise people have informed me, must be found hereabouts if anywhere. Do you know whether the winged horse Pegasus still haunts the Fountain of Pirene, as he used to do?"

But then the country fellow laughed.

Some of you, my little friends, have probably heard that this Pegasus was a snow-white steed with beautiful silvery wings, who spent most of his time on the summit of Mount Helicon. He was as wild and as swift and as buoyant in his flight through the air as any eagle that ever soared into the clouds. There was nothing else like him in the world. He had no mate, he had never been backed or bridled by a master, and for many a long year he led a solitary and a happy life.

Oh, how fine a thing it is to be a winged horse! Sleeping at night, as he did, on a lofty mountain top, and pa.s.sing the greater part of the day in the air, Pegasus seemed hardly to be a creature of the earth.

Whenever he was seen up very high above people's heads, with the sunshine on his silvery wings, you would have thought that he belonged to the sky, and that, skimming a little too low, he had got astray among our mists and vapors and was seeking his way back again. It was very pretty to behold him plunge into the fleecy bosom of a bright cloud and be lost in it for a moment or two, and then break forth from the other side. Or in a sullen rainstorm, when there was a gray pavement of clouds over the whole sky, it would sometimes happen that the winged horse descended right through it, and the glad light of the upper region would gleam after him. In another instant, it is true, both Pegasus and the pleasant light would be gone away together. But any one that was fortunate enough to see this wondrous spectacle felt cheerful the whole day afterward, and as much longer as the storm lasted.

In the summer time and in the most beautiful of weather Pegasus often alighted on the solid earth, and, closing his silvery wings, would gallop over hill and dale for pastime as fleetly as the wind. Oftener than in any other place he had been seen near the Fountain of Pirene, drinking the delicious water or rolling himself upon the soft gra.s.s of the margin. Sometimes, too (but Pegasus was very dainty in his food), he would crop a few of the clover-blossoms that happened to be sweetest. To the Fountain of Pirene, therefore, people's great-grandfathers had been in the habit of going (as long as they were youthful and retained their faith in winged horses) in hopes of getting a glimpse at the beautiful Pegasus. But of late years he had been very seldom seen. Indeed, there were many of the country folks dwelling within half an hour's walk of the fountain who had never beheld Pegasus, and did not believe that there was any such creature in existence. The country fellow to whom Bellerophon was speaking chanced to be one of those incredulous persons.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PEGASUS AT THE FOUNTAIN]

And that was the reason why he laughed.

"Pegasus, indeed!" cried he, turning up his nose as high as such a flat nose could be turned up. "Pegasus, indeed! A winged horse, truly! Why, friend, are you in your senses? Of what use would wings be to a horse?

Could he drag the plow so well, think you? To be sure, there might be a little saving in the expense of shoes, but then how would a man like to see his horse flying out of the stable window?--yes, or whisking him up above the clouds when he only wanted to ride to mill? No, no! I don't believe in Pegasus. There never was such a ridiculous kind of a horse- fowl made!"

"I have reason to think otherwise," said Bellerophon quietly.

And then he turned to an old gray man who was leaning on a staff and listening very attentively with his head stretched forward and one hand at his ear, because for the last twenty years he had been getting rather deaf.

"And what say you, venerable sir?" inquired he. "In your younger days, I should imagine, you must frequently have seen the winged steed."

"Ah, young stranger, my memory is very poor," said the aged man. "When I was a lad, if I remember rightly, I used to believe there was such a horse, and so did everybody else. But nowadays I hardly know what to think, and very seldom think about the winged horse at all. If I ever saw the creature, it was a long, long while ago; and, to tell you the truth, I doubt whether I ever did see him. One day, to be sure, when I was quite a youth, I remember seeing some hoof-prints round about the brink of the fountain. Pegasus might have made those hoof-marks, and so might some other horse."

"And have you never seen him, my fair maiden?" asked Bellerophon of the girl, who stood with the pitcher on her head while this talk went on.

"You surely could see Pegasus if anybody can, for your eyes are very bright."