Edited by Madame de Chatelain.

Princess Rosetta.

There once lived a king and a queen who had two very fine boys. The queen always invited the fairies, on the birth of her children, to foretel their fortunes; so when, some years after, a daughter was born, she again applied to her old friends. The little girl was so beautiful that the fairies were struck with admiration; but when questioned by the mother as to the future fate of Princess Rosetta (for such was her name), they one and all pretended to have left their conjuring-book at home, and said they would come another time. “Alas!” cried the queen, “this bodes no good. Yet I do entreat you to tell me the worst.” The more unwilling the fairies seemed to speak, the greater desire the queen felt to know what was the matter; so at length the principal fairy said: “We are afraid, Madam, that Rosetta will prove unlucky to her brothers, and that they will die in some adventure on her account. That is all that we are able to foresee about your pretty little girl.” They then departed, and left the queen very sad.

Some time after, the queen was told that there was an old hermit, who lived in the trunk of a tree, in a neighbouring wood, and whom everybody went to consult. So she went and consulted the hermit, and he answered, that the best thing would be to shut the princess up in a tower, and never allow her to go abroad. The queen thanked him, and having made him a handsome present, came back and told the king what he had said. The king immediately ordered a high tower to be built, and when it was finished, he shut the princess up in it, though he went daily to see his daughter, accompanied by the queen and the two princes, who were devotedly attached to their sister. By the time the princess was fifteen years of age the king and queen fell ill and died the same day, to the great grief of Rosetta and her brothers. The eldest son was now raised to the throne, when he said to his brother: “It is time we should let our sister out of the tower in which she has been so long shut up.” Accordingly they crossed the garden, and having entered the tower, Rosetta came to meet them, and said: “I hope, Sire, now that you are king, you will let me out of this tower, where I am so tired of being shut up.” And so saying she burst into tears. But the king told her not to cry, and that she should not only leave the tower, but soon be married. When Rosetta came down into the garden, she was delighted with all she saw, and ran about like a child to gather flowers and fruit, followed by her little dog Fretillon, who was as green as a parrot, and had long ears, but who danced most admirably. But when the princess caught sight of a peacock, she thought it the most beautiful creature in the world, and asked her brothers what it was. On being told that it was a bird that was occasionally eaten, she replied that it was a sin and a shame to eat such a beautiful bird, and added, that she would never marry any one but the king of the peacocks, and then such a sacrilege should be forbidden. “But, sister,” said the king, greatly astonished, “where on earth can we find the king of the peacocks?” “That is your look-out,” said the young princess; “all I can say is, that no one else shall become my husband.”

The two brothers then led her to the palace, whither she insisted on having the peacock removed, and put into her chamber. All the ladies of the court, who had not seen Rosetta, then came to pay their respects to her, and brought her a variety of presents, which she received with such infantine grace and pretty gratitude, as to delight everybody. The king and his brother were thinking, meanwhile, how they should contrive to find the king of the peacocks. At length they had Rosetta’s picture taken, and a speaking likeness it was, and with this they set off on their difficult errand, leaving the princess to govern the kingdom during their absence.

They at last reached the kingdom of the Cockchafers, and such a buzzing there was in it, that the king thought he should go deaf or mad. At length he asked the one who appeared the most rational of the set, where he could find the king of the peacocks. “Please your majesty,” replied the cockchafer, “his kingdom is thirty thousand miles from hence, and you have taken the longest road to reach it.” “And pray, how can you know that?” said the king. “Because,” rejoined the cockchafer, “you and we are old acquaintances, for we spend two or three months in your gardens every year.” The king and his brother embraced the cockchafer for joy, and then they dined together; and after admiring all the curiosities of the kingdom, where every leaf was worth a guinea, they continued their journey, till they reached a country where they saw all the trees were filled with peacocks, who made such a screeching that they were to be heard at least two leagues off. The king now said to his brother: “Should the king of the peacocks be himself a peacock, he will be an odd husband for our sister. What a pity it is she ever imagined that there existed such a king!” On reaching the capital, however, they found it inhabited by men and women, who wore dresses made of peacocks’ feathers; and presently they saw the king coming out of his palace, in a beautiful little golden carriage studded with diamonds, and drawn by twelve peacocks. He was extremely handsome, and wore his fine, long, curly flaxen hair flowing on his shoulders, surmounted by a crown of peacocks’ feathers. On perceiving the two strangers he stopped the carriage, and inquired what had brought them to his kingdom. The king and prince then said they came from afar to shew him a beautiful portrait, and accordingly drew forth Rosetta’s likeness. The king of the peacocks after having attentively examined it, declared he could not believe there really existed so beautiful a maiden in the world. Upon which the prince informed him that his brother was a king, and that the original of the portrait was their sister, the princess Rosetta, who was a hundred times more beautiful than here represented, and that they came to offer her to him in marriage, with a bushel of golden crowns for her portion. “I should willingly marry her,” replied the king of the peacocks, “but I must insist upon her being quite as beautiful as the picture; and, should I find her inferior in the slightest respect, I will put you both to death.” “Agreed!” cried the brothers. “Well, then,” said the king, “you must go to prison till the princess arrives.” This they willingly did, and then wrote off to their sister to come immediately to marry the king of the peacocks, who was dying of love for her; but they said nothing about their being shut up, for fear of alarming her.

The princess was half wild with joy when she heard the king of the peacocks was really found, and she lost no time in setting off with her nurse, her foster-sister, and her little green dog Fretillon, who were the only companions she chose to take with her. They put to sea in a vessel loaded with a bushel of golden crowns, and with clothes enough for ten years, supposing the princess put on two new dresses every day.

During the passage, the nurse kept asking the pilot how near they were to the kingdom of peacocks; and when at last he told her they would soon reach its shores, the wicked creature said, that if he would help her to throw the princess into the sea, as soon as she should be asleep that night, she could then dress up her daughter in her fine clothes, and present her to the king of the peacocks for his bride, and that she would give him gold and diamonds so as to make his fortune. The pilot thought it a pity to drown such a fair princess; but the nurse having plied him with wine until he was quite tipsy, he gave his consent, and when night came, he helped her and her daughter to take up Rosetta, when she was fast asleep, mattress, feather-bed and all, and flung her into the sea. Fortunately the bed was stuffed with phoenix’s feathers, which possess the virtue of not sinking, so that it kept floating like a barge. Still, the waves wetted it by degrees, and Rosetta, feeling uncomfortable, kept turning about in her sleep, till she woke her little dog, who lay at the foot of her bed. Fretillon had a very fine scent, and, as he smelt the soles and the cod, he barked aloud, which in turn woke the fish, who began to swim about and run foul of the princess’s light craft, that kept twisting about like a whirlpool.

Meanwhile the wicked nurse had reached the shore, where she and her daughter found a hundred carriages waiting for them, drawn by a variety of animals, such as lions, stags, bears, wolves, horses, oxen, eagles, and peacocks. The coach intended for Princess Rosetta was drawn by six blue monkeys, caparisoned with crimson velvet. The nurse had drest up her daughter in the finest gown she could find, and loaded her head with diamonds; in spite of which, she appeared so frightful, with her squinting eyes, oily black hair, crooked legs, and humped shoulder, that the persons sent by the king of the peacocks to receive her, were struck with amazement at the sight of her. Being as cross as she was ill-favoured, she asked them tartly whether they were all asleep, and why they did not bring her something to eat; and then, distributing her blows pretty freely, she threatened to have them all hung if they did not shew a little more alacrity in doing her bidding. As she passed along in state, the peacocks perched on the trees cried out, “Fie! what an ugly creature!” which enraged her so that she ordered her guards to go and kill all the peacocks; but they flew away and only laughed at her the more. When the pilot heard and saw all this, he whispered to the nurse: “We are in the wrong box, mistress;” but she bid him hold his peace.

When the king came forth to meet her, accompanied by all his nobles, his peacocks, and the foreign ambassadors staying at his court, preceded by Rosetta’s portrait at the end of a long pole, he was ready to die with rage and vexation on seeing such a fright; and, without more ado, he ordered her to be shut up, together with the nurse and the pilot, in the tower prison. His rage next fell upon the two princes, whom he accused of making game of him; and they were much surprised when, instead of being released on their sister’s arrival, they were transferred to a horrible dungeon, where they remained up to their necks in water for three days. At the end of that time, the king of the peacocks came and insulted them through a loop-hole, and told them they were a couple of adventurers, whom he would have hung; upon which, the elder prisoner replied indignantly, that he was as good a king as himself, and that he might some day repent his insolent behaviour. Seeing him so firm, the king of the peacocks had almost a mind to release them at once, and send them away with their sister, but one of his courtiers persuaded him that his dignity required he should punish the strangers; so he had them tried, and they were condemned to be executed for having told a falsehood, and promising the king a beautiful bride, who had turned out a horrible fright. When they heard this sentence, they protested so vehemently that there must be some misunderstanding, which time would clear up, that they obtained a week’s respite. Meanwhile, the poor princess, who was greatly surprised on waking to find herself in the middle of the sea, began to weep bitterly, and fancied she had been cast into the waves by order of the king of the peacocks. After being tossed about for a couple of days, during which she would have died of hunger had she not chanced to pass near a bed of oysters, Fretillon’s incessant barking attracted the notice of a good old man, who lived in a solitary hut on the shore. Thinking some travellers had lost their way, he came out to help them, when he was much surprised on beholding the princess in her water bed, calling out to him to save her life. The old man ran back to fetch a grapple, and towed the bed ashore with some difficulty, and the princess having wrapt herself in the counterpane, followed him to his cottage, where he lit a fire, and gave her some clothes that once belonged to his late wife. Seeing that she must be a lady of high degree, by the richness of the bed-clothes, which were of satin, embroidered with gold and silver, the old man questioned her, and having learnt her story, he offered to go and inform the king of her arrival, reminding her that she would not have proper fare in his poor house. But Rosetta would not hear of such a thing, and preferred borrowing a basket, which she fastened to Fretillon’s neck, saying, “Go and fetch me pot-luck from the best kitchen in the town.” Fretillon set off; and, as there was no better than the king’s, he stole all that was in the pot, and came back to his mistress. She then sent him back to the pantry to fetch bread, wine, and fruit. Now, when the king of the peacocks wanted to dine, there was nothing left, either in the pot or the pantry, so he was in a great rage, and he ordered some joints to be roasted, that he might, at least, make a good supper. But when evening came, the princess sent Fretillon to fetch some joints from the best kitchen, and the little dog again went to the palace, and, whipping the joints off the spit while the cook’s back was turned, he filled his basket and returned home. The king having missed his dinner, wished to sup earlier than usual, when again nothing was to be had, and he went to bed in a perfect fury. The same thing happened the next day, both at dinner and at supper, so that for three days the king never tasted a morsel; and this might have gone on much longer had not a courtier concealed himself in the kitchen, and discovered the four-footed thief, and followed him to the cottage. The king immediately ordered the inmates of the cottage and the dog to be taken into custody, and determined they should be put to death with the two strangers, whose respite was to expire on the morrow. He then entered the hall of justice to judge the culprits. The old man knelt before him, and told him Rosetta’s whole story; and when the king cast his eyes upon her, and saw how beautiful she was, he jumped for joy, and untied the cords that bound her. Meantime the two princes were sent for, together with the nurse and her daughter; and when they had all met, Rosetta fell on her brothers’ necks, while the guilty nurse and her daughter, and the pilot, knelt down to implore forgiveness. The king was so delighted that he pardoned them, and rewarded the old man handsomely, and insisted on his remaining in his palace. The king of the peacocks next did all he could to make up for the ill-usage the king and the prince had suffered. The nurse returned the bushel of golden crowns and Rosetta’s fine clothes; and the wedding rejoicings lasted a whole fortnight. So everybody was satisfied, not forgetting Fretillon, who was fed with all sorts of dainties for the rest of his life.

THE STORY

OF THE

Fair One with Golden Locks.

Edited by Madame de Chatelain.

The Fair One With Golden Locks.

There was once a princess who had such a beautiful head of hair, streaming down in curls to her feet, and brilliant as a sunbeam, that she was universally called the Fair One with Golden Locks. A neighbouring king, having heard a great deal of her beauty, fell in love with her upon hearsay, and sent an ambassador with a magnificent suite to ask her in marriage, bidding him be sure and not fail to bring the princess home with him. The ambassador did his best to fulfil the king’s commands, and made as fair a speech as he could to persuade the lady; but, either she was not in a good temper that day, or his eloquence failed to move her, for she answered, that she thanked the king, but had no mind to marry. So the ambassador returned home with all the presents he had brought, as the princess would not accept anything of a suitor whom she refused, much to the grief of the king, who had made the most splendid preparations to receive her, never doubting but what she would come.

Now there happened to be at court a very handsome young man, named Avenant, who observed, that had he been sent to the Fair One with Golden Locks, he would certainly have persuaded her to come; whereupon some ill-natured persons, who were jealous of the favour he enjoyed, repeated his words to the king, as though he had meant to boast that, being handsomer than his majesty, the princess would certainly have followed him. This threw the king into such a rage, that he ordered poor Avenant to be thrown into a dungeon, where he had nothing but straw to lie upon, and where he would have died of exhaustion had it not been for a little spring that welled forth at the foot of the tower in which he was confined. One day, when he felt as if he were near his end, he could not help exclaiming: “What have I done? and what can have hardened the king’s heart against the most faithful of all his subjects?” It chanced that the king passed by just as he uttered these words, and, being melted by his former favourite’s grief, he ordered the prison door to be opened, and bid him come forth. Avenant fell at his feet, entreating to know the cause of his disgrace. “Did you not make game both of myself and my ambassador?” said the king; “and did you not boast, that had I sent you to the Fair One with Golden Locks, you would have prevailed on her to return with you?” “True, Sire,” replied Avenant; “for I should have set forth all your great qualities so irresistibly, that I am certain she could not have said nay. Methinks there is no treason in that.” The king was so convinced of his innocence, that he straightway released Avenant from prison and brought him back to the palace. After having given him a good supper, the king took him into his cabinet, and confessed to him that he was still so in love with the Fair One with Golden Locks, that he had a great mind to send him to obtain her hand, and meant to prepare a splendid equipage befitting the ambassador of a great nation. But Avenant said: “That is not necessary. Only give me a good horse and the necessary credentials, and I will set off to-morrow.”

On the following morning Avenant left the court, and set out alone on his journey, thinking as he went of all the fine things he should say to the princess, and stopping ever and anon, when any pretty conceit came into his head, to jot it down on his tablets. One day as he halted for this purpose in a lovely meadow by the side of a rivulet, he perceived a large golden carp that lay gasping upon the grass, having jumped so high to snap at the flies, that she had overreached herself, and was unable to get back into the water. Avenant took pity on her, and, gently lifting her up, restored her to her native element. The carp took a plunge to refresh herself, then reappearing on the surface she said: “Thanks, Avenant, for having saved my life. I will do you a good turn if ever I can.” So saying she dived back into the water, leaving Avenant greatly surprised at her civility.

Another time, he saw a crow closely pursued by a large eagle, when, thinking it would be a shame not to defend the weak against the strong, he let fly an arrow that brought the cruel bird of prey to the ground, while the crow perched upon a tree in great delight, crying: “It was very generous of you, Avenant, to help a poor crow like me. But I will prove grateful, and do you a good turn whenever I can.”

Avenant was pleased with the crow’s good feelings and continued his journey; when, some days after, as he crossed a thick wood, he heard an owl hooting, as if in great distress. After looking about him on all sides, Avenant found the poor owl had got entangled in a net. He soon cut the meshes, and set him free. The owl soared aloft, then, wheeling back, cried, “Avenant, I was caught, and should have been killed without your help. But I am grateful, and will do you a good turn when I can.”

Such were the principal adventures that befel Avenant on his journey. When, at last, he reached the capital, where resided the Fair One with Golden Locks, it appeared so magnificent that he thought he should be lucky indeed if he could persuade her to leave such wonders, to come and marry the king, his master. He, however, determined to do his best; so, having put on a brocaded dress, with a richly-embroidered scarf, and hung round his neck a small basket, containing a beautiful little dog he had bought on the road, he asked for admittance at the palace gate with such graceful dignity that the guards all bowed respectfully, and the attendants ran to announce the arrival of another ambassador, named Avenant, from the king, her neighbour.

The princess bid her women fetch the blue brocaded satin gown, and dress her hair with fresh wreaths of flowers; and, when her toilet was completed, she entered her audience chamber, where Avenant was waiting for her. Though dazzled at the sight of her rare beauty, he nevertheless delivered an eloquent harangue, which he wound up by entreating the princess not to give him the pain of returning without her. “Gentle Avenant,” replied she, “your speech is fair; but you must know, that, a month ago I let fall into the river a ring that I value above my kingdom, and I made a vow at the time, that I would never listen to a marriage proposal from anybody, unless his ambassador recovered my lost treasure. So you see, were you to talk till doomsday, you could not shake my determination.”

Avenant, though surprised and vexed at such an answer, made a low bow, and requested the princess’s acceptance of the dog, the basket, and the scarf he wore; but she refused his proffered gifts, and bid him consider of what she had said.

Avenant went to bed supperless that night; nor could he close his eyes for a long while, but kept lamenting that the princess required impossible things to put him off the suit he had undertaken. But his little dog Cabriole bid him be of good cheer, as fortune would no doubt favour him; and though Avenant did not much rely on his good luck, he at length fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

The next morning Cabriole woke up his master who dressed himself and went to take a walk. His feet insensibly carried him to the river side, when he heard a voice calling out: “Avenant! Avenant!” He looked about him, but seeing no one, was proceeding on his way, when Cabriole, who was looking at the water, cried: “Why, master, as I’m alive, it is a golden carp that is hailing you.” Upon which the carp approached, saying: “You saved my life in the meadow, and I promised to be grateful. So here is the ring you are seeking for, gentle Avenant.”

He then hastened to the palace, and, requesting an audience of the princess, he presented her the ring, and asked whether she had any objection now to marry his master? On seeing her ring she was greatly amazed; but, being intent on putting him off once more, she replied: “Since you are so ready to fulfil my behests, most gracious Avenant, I pray you do me another service, without which I cannot marry. There lives not far from hence a giant named Galifron, who has threatened to ravage my kingdom unless I granted him my hand. But I could not resolve to marry a monster who is as tall as a tower, who carries cannons in his pocket to serve for pistols, and whose voice is so loud that people grow deaf if they approach too near him. He is daily killing and eating my subjects, and if you want to win my good graces on your master’s behalf, you must bring me the giant’s head.”

Avenant was taken somewhat aback at this proposal; yet, after a few moments reflection, he said, “Well, madam, I am ready to fight Galifron; and, though I may not conquer, I can, at least, die the death of a hero.” The princess, who had never expected Avenant would consent, now sought to dissuade him from so rash an attempt; but all she could say proved vain; and, having equipped himself for the fight, he mounted his horse and departed.

As he approached Galifron’s castle, he found the road strewed with the bones and carcases of those whom he had devoured or torn to pieces; and presently the giant emerged from a wood, when, seeing Avenant with his sword drawn, he ran at him with his iron club, and would have killed him on the spot, had not a crow come and pecked at his eyes, and made the blood stream down his face; so that, while he aimed his blows at random, Avenant plunged his sword up to the hilt into his heart. Avenant then cut off his head, and the crow perched on a tree, saying: “I have not forgotten how you saved my life by killing the eagle. I promised to do you a good turn, and I have kept my word.” “In truth I am greatly beholden to you, master crow,” quoth Avenant, as he mounted his horse, and rode off with Galifron’s head.

When he reached the city, the inhabitants gathered round him, and accompanied him with loud cheers to the palace. The princess, who had trembled for his safety, was delighted to see him return. “Now madam,” said Avenant, “I think you have no excuse left for not marrying my liege lord.” “Yes, indeed I have,” answered she; “and I shall still refuse him unless you procure me some water from the fountain of beauty. This water lies in a grotto, guarded by two dragons. Inside the grotto is a large hole full of toads and serpents, by which you descend to a small cellar containing the spring. Whoever washes her face with this water retains her beauty, if already beautiful, or becomes beautiful, though ever so ugly. It makes the young remain young, and the old become young again. So you see, Avenant, I cannot leave my kingdom without carrying some of this water away with me.” “Methinks, madam,” observed Avenant, “you are far too beautiful to need any such water; but, as you seek the death of your humble servant, I must go and die.”

Accordingly, Avenant set out with his faithful little dog, and at last reached a high mountain, from the top of which he perceived a rock as black as ink, whence issued clouds of smoke. Presently out came a green and yellow dragon, whose eyes and nostrils were pouring forth fire, and whose tail had at least a hundred coils. Avenant drew his sword, and taking out a phial given him by the Fair One with Golden Locks, said to Cabriole, “I shall never be able to reach the water; so, when I am killed, fill this phial with my blood, and take it to the princess, that she may see what she has cost me, and then go and inform the king, my master, of the fate that has befallen me.” While he was speaking, a voice called out: “Avenant! Avenant!” and he perceived an owl in the hollow of a tree, who said: “You freed me from the bird-catcher’s net, and I promised to do you a good turn. So give me your phial, and I will go and fetch the water of beauty.” And away flew the owl, who, knowing all the turnings and windings of the grotto, soon returned bearing back his prize. After thanking the owl most heartily, Avenant lost no time in going back to the palace, where he presented the bottle to the princess, who now agreed to set out with him for his master’s kingdom.

On reaching the capital, the king came forth to meet the Fair One with Golden Locks, and made her the most sumptuous presents. They were then married, amid great festivities and rejoicings; but the queen, who loved Avenant in her heart, could not forbear incessantly reminding the king, that had it not been for Avenant she would never have come, and that it was he alone who had procured her the water of beauty that was to preserve her ever youthful and beautiful. So it happened that some meddling bodies went and told the king that she preferred Avenant to himself, when he became so jealous that he ordered his faithful subject to be thrown into prison, and fed upon nothing but bread and water. When the Fair One with Golden Locks heard of his disgrace, she implored the king to release him, but the more she entreated, the more obstinately his majesty refused. The king now imagined that his wife perhaps did not think him handsome enough, so he had a mind to try the effects of washing his face with the water of beauty. Accordingly, one night he took the phial from off the mantel-piece in the queen’s bed-chamber, and rubbed his face well before he went to bed. But, unfortunately, a short time previous the phial had been broken by one of the maids, as she was dusting, and, to avoid a scolding, she had replaced it by a phial which she found in the king’s cabinet, containing a wash similar in appearance, but deadly in its effects. The king went to sleep, and died. Cabriole ran to his master to tell him the news, when Avenant bid him go and remind the queen of the poor prisoner. So Cabriole slipped in amongst the crowd of courtiers who had assembled on the king’s death, and whispered to her majesty: “Do not forget poor Avenant.” The queen then called to mind all he had suffered on her account, and hastening to the tower, she took off his chains with her own white hands, and throwing the royal mantle over his shoulders, and placing a gold crown on his head, she said: “I choose you for my husband, Avenant, and you shall be king.” Everybody was delighted at her choice, the wedding was the grandest ever seen, and the Fair One with Golden Locks, and her faithful Avenant, lived happily to a good old age.

BO-PEEP
STORY BOOKS.

OLD MOTHER HUBBARD,
LITTLE BO-PEEP, &C.,
THE THREE BEARS,
LITTLE GOODY TWO-SHOES,
HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT,
DEATH OF COCK ROBIN.

NEW YORK:
LEAVITT & ALLEN BROS.,
No. 8 HOWARD STREET.

THE STORY

OF

Old Mother Hubbard.

Edited by Madame de Chatelain.

Old Mother Hubbard.

Little Bo-Peep;

AND

OTHER TALES.

Edited by Madame de Chatelain.

Little Bo-Peep.

The Old Woman and her Eggs.

Old Mother Goose.

THE STORY

OF

The Three Bears.

Edited by Madame de Chatelain.

The Story of the Three Bears.

Once upon a time there were Three Bears, who lived together in a house of their own, in a wood. One of them was a Little, Small, Wee Bear; and one was a Middle-sized Bear, and the other was a Great, Huge Bear. They had each a pot for their porridge; a little pot for the Little, Small, Wee Bear; and a middle-sized pot for the Middle Bear; and a great pot for the Great, Huge Bear. And they had each a chair to sit in; a little chair for the Little, Small, Wee Bear; and a middle-sized chair for the Middle Bear; and a great chair for the Great, Huge Bear. And they had each a bed to sleep in; a little bed for the Little, Small, Wee Bear; a middle-sized bed for the Middle Bear; and a great bed for the Great, Huge Bear.

One day, after they had made the porridge for their breakfast, and poured it into their porridge-pots, they walked out into the wood while the porridge was cooling, that they might not burn their mouths by beginning too soon to eat it. And while they were walking, a little girl named Silver-hair came to the house. First she looked in at the window, and then she peeped in at the keyhole; and seeing nobody in the house, she lifted the latch. The door was not fastened, because the Bears were good Bears, who did nobody any harm, and never suspected that anybody would harm them. So little Silver-hair opened the door, and went in; and well pleased she was when she saw the porridge on the table. If she had been a good little girl, she would have waited till the Bears came home, and then, perhaps, they would have asked her to breakfast; for they were good Bears,—a little rough or so, as the manner of Bears is, but for all that very good-natured and hospitable.

So first she tasted the porridge of the Great, Huge Bear, and that was too hot for her. And then she tasted the porridge of the Middle Bear, and that was too cold for her. And then she went to the porridge of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, and tasted that; and that was neither too hot nor too cold, but just right; and she liked it so well, that she ate it all up.

Then little Silver-hair sate down in the chair of the Great, Huge Bear, and that was too hard for her. And then she sate down in the chair of the Middle Bear, and that was too soft for her. And then she sate down in the chair of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, and that was neither too hard nor too soft, but just right. So she seated herself in it, and there she sate till the bottom of the chair came out, and down came her’s, plump upon the ground.

Then little Silver-hair went up stairs into the bed-chamber in which the Three Bears slept. And first she lay down upon the bed of the Great, Huge Bear; but that was too high at the head for her. And next she lay down upon the bed of the Middle Bear; and that was too high at the foot for her. And then she lay down upon the bed of the Little, Small, Wee Bear; and that was neither too high at the head nor at the foot, but just right. So she covered herself up comfortably, and lay there till she fell fast asleep.

By this time the Three Bears thought their porridge would be cool enough; so they came home to breakfast. Now little Silver-hair had left the spoon of the Great, Huge Bear standing in his porridge.

said the Great, Huge Bear, in his great, rough, gruff voice. And when the Middle Bear looked at his, he saw that the spoon was standing in it too.

said the Middle Bear, in his middle voice.

Then the Little, Small, Wee Bear looked at his, and there was the spoon in the porridge-pot, but the porridge was all gone.

said the Little, Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small wee voice.

Upon this the Three Bears, seeing that some one had entered their house, and eaten up the Little, Small, Wee Bear’s breakfast, began to look about them. Now little Silver-hair had not put the hard cushion straight when she rose from the chair of the Great, Huge Bear.

said the Great, Huge Bear, in his great, rough, gruff voice.

And little Silver-hair had squatted down the soft cushion of the Middle Bear.

said the Middle Bear, in his middle voice.

And you know what little Silver-hair had done to the third chair.

said the Little, Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small wee voice.

Then the Three Bears thought it necessary that they should make further search; so they went up stairs into their bed-chamber. Now little Silver-hair had pulled the pillow of the Great, Huge Bear out of its place.

said the Great, Huge Bear, in his great, rough, gruff voice.

And little Silver-hair had pulled the bolster of the Middle Bear out of its place.

said the Middle Bear, in his middle voice.

And when the Little, Small, Wee Bear came to look at his bed, there was the bolster in its place; and the pillow in its place upon the bolster; and upon the pillow was little Silver-hair’s pretty head,—which was not in its place, for she had no business there.

said the Little, Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small, wee voice.

Little Silver-hair had heard in her sleep the great, rough, gruff voice of the Great, Huge Bear; but she was so fast asleep that it was no more to her than the roaring of wind, or the rumbling of thunder. And she had heard the middle voice of the Middle Bear, but it was only as if she had heard some one speaking in a dream. But when she heard the little, small, wee voice of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, it was so sharp, and so shrill, that it awakened her at once. Up she started; and when she saw the Three Bears on one side of the bed, she tumbled out at the other, and ran to the window. Now the window was open, because the Bears, like good, tidy Bears, as they were, always opened their bed-chamber window when they got up in the morning. Out little Silver-hair jumped; and away she ran into the wood, and the Three Bears never saw anything more of her.

THE STORY

OF

Little Goody Two-Shoes.

Edited by Madame de Chatelain.

Little Goody Two-Shoes.

All the world must know that Goody Two-Shoes was not a little girl’s real name. No; her father’s name was Meanwell, and he was for many years a large farmer in the parish where Margery was born; but by the misfortunes he met with in business, and the wickedness of Sir Timothy Gripe, and a farmer named Graspall, he was quite ruined.

Care and discontent shortened the life of little Margery’s father. Her poor mother survived the loss of her husband but a few days, and died of a broken heart, leaving Margery and her little brother to the wide world; but, poor woman! it would have melted your heart to have seen how frequently she raised her head while she lay speechless, to survey with pitying looks her little orphans, as much as to say: “Do, Tommy,—do, Margery, come with me.” They cried, poor things, and she sighed away her soul, and, I hope, is happy.

It would both have excited your pity and have done your heart good, to have seen how fond these two little ones were of each other, and how, hand in hand, they trotted about. They were both very ragged, and Tommy had two shoes, but Margery had but one. They had nothing to support them but what they picked from the hedges, or got from the poor people, and they slept every night in a barn. Their relations took no notice of them: no, they were rich, and ashamed to own such a poor ragged girl as Margery, and such a dirty curly-pated boy as Tommy.

Mr. Smith was a very worthy clergyman, who lived in the parish where little Margery and Tommy were born; and having a relation come to see him, who was a charitable, good man, he sent for these children to him. The gentleman ordered little Margery a new pair of shoes, gave Mr. Smith some money to buy her clothes, and said he would take Tommy, and make him a little sailor; and, accordingly, had a jacket and trowsers made for him.

After some days, the gentleman intended to go to London, and take little Tommy with him. The parting between these two little children was very affecting. They both cried, and they kissed each other a hundred times. At last Tommy wiped off her tears with the end of his jacket, and bid her cry no more, for that he would come to her again when he returned from sea.

Nothing could have supported little Margery under the affliction she was in for the loss of her brother but the pleasure she took in her two shoes. She ran to Mrs. Smith as soon as they were put on, and stroking down her ragged apron, cried out: “Two Shoes, Ma’am! see Two Shoes!” And so she behaved to all the people she met, and by that means obtained the name of Little Goody Two-Shoes.

Little Margery saw how good and how wise Mr. Smith was, and concluded that this was owing to his great learning; therefore she wanted of all things to learn to read. For this purpose, she used to meet the little boys and girls as they came from school, borrow their books, and sit down and read till they returned. By this means she soon got more learning than any of her playmates, and laid the following plan for instructing those who were more ignorant than herself. She found that only twenty-six letters were required to spell all the words; but as some of these letters are large, and some small, she with her knife cut out of several pieces of wood ten sets of each. And having got an old spelling-book, she made her companions set up the words they wanted to spell.

The usual manner of spelling, or carrying on the game, as they called it, was this: suppose the word to be spelt was plum-pudding (and who can suppose a better?), the children were placed in a circle, and the first brought the letter p, the next l, the next u, the next m, and so on till the whole was spelt; and if any one brought a wrong letter, he was to pay a fine or play no more. This was their play; and every morning she used to go round to teach the children. I once went her rounds with her, and was highly diverted.

It was about seven o’clock in the morning, when we set on this important business, and the first house we came to was Farmer Wilson’s. Here Margery stopped, and ran up to the door,—tap, tap, tap! “Who’s there?” “Only little Goody Two-Shoes,” answered Margery, “come to teach Billy.” “Oh, little Goody,” says Mrs. Wilson, with pleasure in her face. “I am glad to see you! Billy waits you sadly, for he has learned his lesson.” Then out came the little boy. “How do, Doody Two-Shoes?” says he, not able to speak plain. Yet this little boy had learned all his letters; for she threw down the small alphabet mixed together, and he picked them up, called them by their right names, and put them all in order. She then threw down the alphabet of capital letters, and he picked them all up, and having told their names, placed them rightly.

The next place we came to was Farmer Simpson’s. “Bow, wow, wow!” says the dog at the door. “Sir-rah!” says his Mistress, “why do you bark at little Two-Shoes? Come in, Madge; here’s Sally wants you sadly, she has learned all her lesson.” “Yes, that’s what I have,” replied the little one, in the country manner; and immediately taking the letters, she set up these syllables:—

ba be bi bo bu

da de di do du

ma me mi mo mu

sa se si so su

and gave them their exact sounds as she composed them; after which she set up many more, and pronounced them likewise.

After this, little Two-Shoes taught Sally to spell words of one syllable, and she soon set up pear, plum, top, ball, pin, puss, dog, hog, doe, lamb, sheep, rat, cow, bull, cock, hen, and many more.

The next place we came to was Gaffer Cook’s cottage. Here a number of poor children were met to learn, and all came round little Margery at once; who, having pulled out her letters, asked the little boy next to her what he had for dinner. He answered “Bread.” “Well, then,” says she, “set up the first letter.” He put up the B, to which, the next added r, and the next e, the next a, the next d, and it stood thus, Bread.

“And what had you, Polly Comb, for your dinner?” “Apple-Pie,” answered the little girl. Upon which the next in turn set up a great A, the two next a p, each, and so on till the two words Apple and Pie were united, and stood thus, Apple-Pie. The next had potatoes, the next beef and turnips, which were spelt, with many others, till the game was finished. She then set them another task, and after the lessons were done we returned home.

Who does not know Lady Ducklington, or who does not know that she was buried in this parish? Well, I never saw so grand a funeral. All the country round came to see the burying, and it was late before it was over; after which, in the night, or rather very early in the morning, the bells were heard to jingle in the steeple, which frightened the people prodigiously. They flocked to Will Dobbins, the clerk, and wanted him to go and see what it was; but William would not open the door. At length Mr. Long, the rector, hearing such an uproar in the village, went to the clerk to know why he did not go into the church, and see who was there. “I go, sir!” says William; “why, I would be frightened out of my wits.” “Give me the key of the church,” says Mr. Long. Then he went to the church, all the people following him. As soon as he had opened the door, who do you think appeared? Why, little Two-Shoes, who, being weary, had fallen asleep in one of the pews during the funeral service, and was shut in all night. She immediately asked Mr. Long’s pardon for the trouble she had given him, and said she should not have rung the bells, but that she was very cold, and hearing Farmer Boult’s man go whistling by, she was in hopes he would have gone for the key to let her out.

The people were ashamed to ask little Madge any questions before Mr. Long, but as soon as he was gone they all got round her to satisfy their curiosity, and desired she would give them a particular account of all that she had heard or seen.

“I went to the church,” said Goody Two-Shoes, “as most of you did last night, to see the funeral, and being very weary, I sat down in Mr. Jones’s pew, and fell fast asleep. At eleven o’clock I awoke; I started up, and could not at first tell where I was, but after some time I recollected the funeral, and soon found that I was shut up in the church. It was dismally dark, and I could see nothing; but while I was standing in the pew something jumped upon me behind, and laid, as I thought, its hands over my shoulders. Then I walked down the church aisle, when I heard something pit pat, pit pat, pit pat, come after me, and something touched my hand that seemed as cold as a marble monument. I could not think what it was, yet I knew it could not hurt me, and therefore I made myself easy; but being very cold, and the church being paved with stones, which were very damp, I felt my way as well as I could to the pulpit, in doing which something rushed by me, and almost threw me down. At last I found out the pulpit, and having shut the door, I laid down on the mat and cushion to sleep, when something pulled the door, as I thought, for admittance, which prevented my going to sleep. At last it cried: ‘Bow, wow, wow!’ and I knew it must be Mr. Sanderson’s dog, which had followed me from their house to the church; so I opened the door and called,’ Snip! Snip!’ and the dog jumped upon me immediately. After this, Snip and I lay down together, and had a comfortable nap; for when I awoke it was almost light. I then walked up and down all the aisles of the church to keep myself warm; and then I went to Lord Ducklington’s tomb, and I stood looking at his cold marble face and his hands clasped together, till hearing Farmer Boult’s man go by, I went to the bells and rung them.”

There was in the same parish a Mrs. Williams, who kept a college for instructing little gentlemen and ladies in the science of A B C, who was at this time very old and infirm, and wanted to decline this important trust. This being told to Sir William Dove, he sent for Mrs. Williams, and desired she would examine little Two-Shoes, and see whether she was qualified for the office. This was done, and Mrs. Williams made the following report in her favour: namely, that little Margery was the best scholar, and had the best head and the best heart of any one she had examined. All the country had a great opinion of Mrs. Williams, and this character gave them also a great opinion of Mrs. Margery, for so we must now call her.

The room in which Mrs. Margery taught her scholars was very large and spacious, and as she knew that nature intended children should be always in action she placed her different letters of alphabets all round the school, so that every one was obliged to get up and fetch a letter, for to spell a word, when it came to their turn; which not only kept them in health, but fixed the letters firmly in their minds.

One day as Mrs. Margery was going through the next village, she met with some wicked boys who had taken a young raven, which they were going to throw at. She wanted to get the poor creature out of their cruel hands, and therefore gave them a penny for him, and brought him home. She called him by the name of Ralph, and a fine bird he was.

Now this bird she taught to speak, to spell, and to read; and as he was fond of playing with the large letters, the children used to call them Ralph’s Alphabet.

Some days after she had met with the raven, as she was walking in the fields, she saw some naughty boys who had taken a pigeon and tied a string to its legs, in order to let it fly and draw it back again when they pleased; and by this means they tortured the poor bird with the hopes of liberty and repeated disappointment. This pigeon she also bought, and taught him how to spell and read, though not to talk. He was a very pretty fellow, and she called him Tom. And as the raven Ralph was fond of the large letters, Tom the pigeon took care of the small ones.

The neighbours knowing that Mrs. Two-Shoes was very good, as, to be sure, nobody was better, made her a present of a little skylark. She thought the lark might be of use to her and her pupils, and tell them when it was time to get up. “For he that is fond of his bed, and lies till noon, lives but half his days, the rest being lost in sleep, which is a kind of death.”

Some time after this a poor lamb had lost its dam, and the farmer being about to kill it, she bought it of him, and brought him home with her to play with the children, and teach them when to go to bed; for it was a rule with the wise men of that age (and a very good one, let me tell you) to “Rise with the lark, and lie down with the lamb.” This lamb she called Will, and a pretty fellow he was.

No sooner was Tippy, the lark, and Will, the ba-lamb, brought into the school, than that sensible rogue Ralph, the raven, composed the following verse, which every good little boy and girl should get by heart:—

“Early to bed, and early to rise,
Is the way to be healthy, wealthy, and wise.”

Soon after this, a present was made to Mrs. Margery of a little dog, whom she called Jumper. He was always in a good humour, and playing and jumping about, and therefore he was called Jumper. The place assigned for Jumper was that of keeping the door, so that he might have been called the porter of a college, for he would let nobody go out nor any one come in, without leave of his mistress.

Billy, the ba-lamb, was a cheerful fellow, and all the children were fond of him; wherefore Mrs. Two-Shoes made it a rule that those who behaved best should have Will home with them at night, to carry their satchel on his back, and bring it in the morning. Mrs. Margery, as we have frequently observed, was always doing good, and thought she could never sufficiently gratify those who had done anything to serve her. These generous sentiments naturally led her to consult the interest of her neighbours; and as most of their lands were meadow, and they depended much on their hay, which had been for many years greatly damaged by the wet weather, she contrived an instrument to direct them when to mow their grass with safety, and prevent their hay being spoiled. They all came to her for advice, and by that means got in their hay without damage, while most of that in the neighbouring village was spoiled. This occasioned very great noise in the country, and so greatly provoked were the people who resided in the other parishes that they absolutely accused her of being a witch, and sent old Gaffer Goosecap, a busy fellow in other people’s concerns, to find out evidence against her. The wiseacre happened to come to her school when she was walking about with the raven on one shoulder, the pigeon on the other, the lark on her hand, and the lamb and the dog by her side; which indeed made a droll figure, and so surprised the man, that he cried out: “A witch! a witch! a witch!”

Upon this, she laughingly answered: “A conjuror! a conjuror!” and so they parted. But it did not end thus, for a warrant was issued out against Mrs. Margery, and she was carried to a meeting of the justices, whither all the neighbours followed her.

At the meeting, one of the justices, who knew little of life and less of the law, behaved very badly, and though nobody was able to prove anything against her, asked who she could bring to her character. “Who can you bring against my character, sir,” says she. “There are people enough who would appear in my defence, were it necessary; but I never supposed that any one here could be so weak as to believe there was any such thing as a witch. If I am a witch, this is my charm, and (laying a barometer upon the table) it is with this,” says she, “that I have taught my neighbours to know the state of the weather.”

All the company laughed; and Sir William Dove, who was on the bench, asked her accusers how they could be such fools as to think there was any such thing as a witch. And then he gave such an account of Mrs. Margery and her virtue, good sense, and prudent behaviour, that the gentlemen present returned her public thanks for the great service she had done the country. One gentleman in particular, Sir Charles Jones, had conceived such a high opinion of her, that he offered her a considerable sum to take the care of his family, and the education of his daughter, which, however, she refused but this gentleman sending for her afterwards, when he had a dangerous fit of illness, she went, and behaved so prudently in the family and so tenderly to him and his daughter, that he would not permit her to leave his house, but soon after made her proposals of marriage. She was truly sensible of the honour he intended her, but would not consent to be made a lady till he had provided for his daughter. All things being settled, and the day fixed, the neighbours came in crowds to see the wedding; for they were all glad that one who had been such a good little girl, and was become such a virtuous and good woman, was going to be made a lady. But just as the clergyman had opened his book, a gentleman richly dressed ran into the church, and cried: “Stop! stop!” This greatly alarmed the congregation, and particularly the intended bride and bridegroom, whom he first accosted, desiring to speak with them apart. After they had been talking a few moments, the people were greatly surprised to see Sir Charles stand motionless, and his bride cry and faint away in the stranger’s arms. This seeming grief, however, was only a prelude to a flood of joy, which immediately succeeded; for you must know that this gentleman so richly dressed was little Tommy Meanwell, Mrs. Margery’s brother, who was just come from sea, where he had made a large fortune, and hearing, as soon as he landed, of his sister’s intended wedding, had ridden post to see that a proper settlement was made on her, which he thought she was now entitled to, as he himself was able to give her an ample fortune. They soon returned to the communion-table, and were married in tears, but they were tears of joy.

Sir Charles and Lady Jones lived happily for many years. Her ladyship continued to visit the school in which she had passed so many happy days, and always gave the prizes to the best scholars with her own hands. She also gave to the parish several acres of land to be planted yearly with potatoes, for all the poor who would come and fetch them for the use of their families; but if any took them to sell, they were deprived of that privilege ever after. And these roots were planted and raised from the rent arising from a farm which she had assigned over for that purpose. In short, she was a mother to the poor, a physician to the sick, and a friend to those in distress. Her life was the greatest blessing, and her death the greatest calamity that ever was felt in the neighbourhood.

THE STORY

OF

The House that Jack Built.

 This is the house that Jack built.

Edited by Madame de Chatelain.

The House that Jack Built.

THE STORY

OF THE

Death & Burial of Cock Robin.

Edited by Madame de Chatelain.

THE STORY

OF THE

Death and Burial of Cock Robin.