Chapter V: Part 5

THE PRAYER OF THE SMALL COUNTRY M.P.

WHICH HE PRAYETH DAILY

O THOU Especial Little God of Parliaments and Electors, with whom the greater God of the Universe has nothing whatever to do!--I beseech Thee to look upon me, Thy chosen servant, with a tolerant and favourable Eye! Consider with Leniency the singular and capricious Chance which has enabled me to become a Member of the Government, and grant me Thy protection, so that my utter Incapacity for the Post may never be discovered! Enable me, I implore Thee, to altogether dispense with the assistance of a certain Journalist and Press-Reporter in the composition of my Speeches! His Terms are high, and I am not sure of his Discretion! Impart unto me by spiritual telegraphy such Knowledge of the general Situation of Affairs that I may be able to furnish forth an occasional Intelligent Remark to the farmers of this Constituency, whose Loyalty to the Government is as firm as their Trust in the Power of Beer! Give me the grace of such shallow Profundity and Pretension as shall convince Rustic minds of my complete Superiority to them in matters concerning their Interest and Welfare, and teach me to use their Simplicity for the convenient furtherance of my own Cunning! Fill me with such necessary and becoming Arrogance as shall make me overbearingly insolent to Persons of Intellect, while yet retaining that sleek Affability which shall cause me to appear a Fawning Flunkey to Persons of Rank! Enable me to so condescendingly patronize the Electors who gave me their majority that it shall seem I was returned through merit only, and not through Bribes and Beer! And mercifully defend me, O Beneficent little Deity, from all possibility of ever being called upon to address the House! I am no speaker,--and even if I were, I have no Ideas whereon to hang a fustian sentence! Thou Knowest, All-Knowing-One, that I have not so much as an Opinion, save that it is good for me, in respect of Social Advantage, to write M.P. after my name! And surely Thou dost also know that I have paid Two Thousand Pounds for the purchase of this small portion of the Alphabet, making One Thousand Pounds per letter, which may humbly be submitted to Thee, O Calculating Ruler of Parliamentary Elections, as somewhat dear! But I have accepted these Conditions and paid the sum without murmuring; therefore of Thy goodness, be pleased to spare me from the utterance of even one word in the presence of my peers, concerning any Matter for the Advancement of Which I have been elected! For lo,--if I said as much as “Yea,” it might be ill-advised; and yet again, if I said “Nay,” it might be ill-timed! Inasmuch as I am compelled to rely on the Journalist and Press-Reporter before mentioned for whatsoever knowledge of matters political I possess, and it is just possible that he might,--through an extra dose of whisky-soda,--mislead me by erroneous information! O Lord of Press-Agencies and Grub-Street Eating-Houses, if it be possible unto Thee, relieve me of this Man! He charges more, so I am credibly informed, per Hundred Words than any other Inventor of Original Eloquence in the pay of the Unlettered and Inarticulate of the House! And it is much to be feared that he does not always keep his own Counsel! Wherefore, gracious Deity, I would be Released with all convenient Speed from the Exercise of his Power! Rather than be constantly compelled to rely upon this Journalistic Wretch for Advice and Instruction, it will more conduce to my Comfort,--though possibly to my Fatigue,--to commit to Memory such portions of long-forgotten speeches spoken by Defunct Members of the House in the Past, as may be found suitable to the present needs of the Rural Population. The Corn-growing and Cattle-breeding Electors will not know from what Sources I derive my Inspiration, and the Editor of the Local Newspaper has not yet taken a degree in Scholarship. Moreover, the Dead are happily unable to send in any Claim for Damages against the Theft of their Ideas, which are as free to Independent Pilferers as the Original Plots of New and Successful Romances are free to the Dramatizing Robbers in the Stage-Purlieus, thanks to the Admirable Attitude of Dignified Indolence assumed by that Government to which I, one Fool out of Many, have the honour to belong! Finally, O Beneficent Lilliputian Deity which governeth matters Parliamentary,--grant me such a sufficient amount of highly-respectable Mendacity as shall enable me to pass successfully for what I am not, at least, so far as Society in the Country is concerned! Fully aware am I, O Lord, that a Simulation of Ability will not always meet with approval in Town, though it has been occasionally known to do so! Therefore I am well content to sit in the House as one MUM, thus representing through myself an inaudible County! But in the County itself it shall seem to the Uninitiated that my thoughts are too deep for speech, while I retain in my own mind the knowledge of the Fact that my Humbug is too great for Expression!

To Thee, gentle yet capricious Deity, I commend all my Desires, praying Thee to keep the people whom I represent as Dumb and Inert as myself in matters concerning their own Welfare, for if they should chance to consider the Situation by the light of Common Sense, and me by the shrewd Appreciation of a Native Wit, it might occur to them to prefer a Man rather than a Wooden-headed Nonentity to Proclaim their Existence to the King’s faithful Commons! Wherefore, at the next General Election I should lose my Seat,--which would be Disagreeable to me personally, as well as a Cause of Rage in my Wife, to whom my present Condition of a Parliamentary Microbe is much more important and advantageous than it is to the Country! And Thou knowest, O Lord, that when my Wife is moved by the Impetuous Persuasion of a difficult Temper, it is necessary for me, by reason of her Superior Height, Size, and Aggressiveness, to retire from the domestic Fighting-ground, considerably worsted in the unequal Combat. Protect me, merciful Deity, from her Tongue!--which is as a Sword to slay all thoughts of Peace! And, concerning the accursèd ubiquitous Journalist-Reporter-Paragraphist-Correspondent-Attached-to-all-Newspapers Man, who, for my sins, wrote my “speech to the Electors” at a high charge, and agreed,--and therefore expects, to write all my other public utterances on the same terms, I beseech Thee, when he next waits upon me with his Bill, ready to Counsel or to Command, grant me the Strength and Courage to tell a more barefaced Lie than is habitual to me, and to boldly say that I can do Without him!

Amen.

THE CHILDREN’S PAGES

KING BUTTERCUP’S WEDDING
HOW JACK BUILT HIS HOUSE
THE SWIMMING SHOES
CHILDREN’S EVENING HYMN

KING BUTTERCUP’S WEDDING

AN EXTRAVAGANZA

IT is a long time ago since King Buttercup was married, so long that the most venerable Yew in the forest cannot remember anything about it, though it was a very grand Wedding and made a great sensation in the Flower-World. It took place in the beautiful meadows that surround the town of Stratford-on-Avon, where the greatest poet of all the world, Shakespeare, was born,--but it was long ages before either he saw the light or Stratford-on-Avon looked as it does now. Only the West Wind, who was really present at the ceremony, can give any exact account of it, and he told me all about it, just as I shall tell you. If you doubt the truth of the story, you must blame him, not me.

This is how it happened. On a beautiful May morning, just as all the early Spring flowers were awaking from their night’s slumber, a big Bee, splendidly dressed in a costume of brown and yellow velvet, bounced suddenly on a spray of syringa. He was one of the Town Criers in the employ of the Government, whose business it is to fly every morning from blossom to blossom, and relate every event that takes place in Flowerland, where as yet they have no newspapers. With a long, loud buzz, the Bee proclaimed:--

“Important! Special!! Startling news!!! His Gracious Majesty, King Buttercup, Monarch of Meadowland, is about to marry!!!! Marriage of the Monarch of Meadowland!!!!!”

At this, several lazy Forget-me-nots who had before felt inclined to take five minutes’ more nap, became broad awake in a second, and opened their sleepy blue eyes wide in astonishment, while a group of highly cultivated Lilies of the Valley, instead of nodding drowsily on their green stems, drew themselves up with an air of offended dignity,--“The Monarch of Meadowland,” said they; “What is he to us? A common wild flower--a weed--a nobody--called a king merely by courtesy. True, he rules over a small part of our country, but pooh! we would not be seen at his court!”--and they rustled their long leaves haughtily. The Bee rubbed his forelegs together thoughtfully for a second, and then observed--

“You spoke of a _small_ part of our country,--why Meadowland is the largest kingdom in it!”

“Nonsense!” sharply exclaimed the stately Hyacinth. “It is an unexplored wilderness,--its king and people are nothing better than savages! Do not presume to argue with _us_, Sir Bee! _We_ are the aristocracy!”

The Bee bowed humbly and was silent.

“Pray,” inquired a dandy Tulip, languidly uncurling his leaves to the sun, “who is the lady destined to be the future Queen of Meadowland?”

“The fair Daisy,” replied the Bee, “and report says she is as good as she is lovely.”

A cluster of brilliantly-attired Crocuses here set up a shrill little laugh of contempt and derision.

“What, Daisy!” they exclaimed,--“that little fright! A dwarf! A model of ugliness! Well, the King’s taste is not very refined!”

The Lilies, Hyacinths, and Tulips, together with some newly-awakened Jonquils, all joined in mockery of King Buttercup’s chosen bride, and the poor Town Crier was losing patience with them, when he heard a sweet voice near him say--

“Good-morning, Sir Bee! Your news delights me. I am always happy when I hear of the good fortune of others. Daisy has long been a dear friend of mine, and I heartily wish her joy. Come and tell me all about it.”

Thus invited, the Bee gladly flew down to a bank of dewy moss, where dwelt the flower who spoke to him, the fair and gentle Violet. The other flowers were silent; they knew that though the Violet was really a native of Meadowland, yet there was no one more honoured at the brilliant court of their Queen, the Rose, than she was, and they dared not speak against Daisy, whom she thus publicly acknowledged as a dear friend. Meanwhile, the Violet, after hospitably giving the Bee some fresh honey for breakfast, listened with great interest to his account of the approaching festivities.

“Two thousand blue butterflies are commissioned by his Majesty,” said he, “to be the bearers of the royal invitations to the marriage. You will no doubt receive yours in the course of the day. One million spiders are employed in weaving a canopy under which the bridal pair will receive their friends. The Daisy is to be attended by one hundred of the whitest Anemones as bridesmaids, and the King will be escorted by the same number of selected Celandines. The Wedding will take place to-morrow at sunrise, in the centre of the green field that slopes down to the river yonder, and after the ceremony there will be a grand Banquet. In the evening a State Ball will be held in the King’s Palace, to which many of the highest aristocracy will come, though the season for them is not yet begun. But many have consented to travel thither to do honour to the King--one Lily in particular is on her way from the Nile, travelling night and day in order to be present.”

Here the Bee paused a moment, and rubbed his forelegs in great excitement. Not only Violet, but all the flowers near him were bending eagerly forward to listen to his account of the morrow’s programme, and he went on--

“I am to be there with all the Worshipful Company of Town Criers,--we are to stand on each side of the path down which the King and his newly-made Queen will pass--and at a signal from our Chief, we shall all buzz together, which will have a grand effect. The Thrush has been asked to sing an anthem, but his voice has been so much admired, that he has become fanciful and conceited, and always has a cold when he is wanted to sing. He says he has heard that if singers can manage to have a cold whenever it suits their caprice, they become more popular. But I must not stay any longer gossiping, or I shall never get through my business. I shall see you among the guests to-morrow. Good-bye!” and away flew the Bee buzzing as loudly as he could, for he felt very fussy, as most people do who have important news to tell. The Violet, left to herself, thought very much of her friend Daisy’s good fortune, and looked forward with eagerness to the forthcoming festivities.

“Are you going to this absurd ceremony, Lady Violet?” inquired the same dandy, Tulip, who had before spoken to the Bee.

“Certainly, if the King invites me,” she replied.

“Oh, we are all sure to be invited!” he exclaimed. “The vulgar little monarch will honour himself by pretending to know us and sending us his invitations; but I, for one, shall not trouble myself to go.”

“Nor we,” said the Lilies.

“Nor we,” chorused the Crocuses.

“Well,” gently said the Violet, “we need not decide what to do till the invitations come.”

The sun was now high in the heavens, and all the fields and gardens were bright with life and activity. The birds warbled gaily on the budding green boughs, and hosts of gay insects with rainbow-tinted wings fluttered and danced in the fresh breeze. Many butterflies passed to and fro, some pure white, others pale yellow, others crimson, and some beautifully variegated; but as the messengers of King Buttercup were to be recognized by their blue costume, the other members of the tribe did not attract as much attention from the Flowers as usual. The hours passed on, and yet not a single blue butterfly appeared. Now, though Lilies, Crocuses, and Hyacinths had all derided King Buttercup and his bride, they were in secret very anxious to be invited to the wedding, which they knew well enough would be a grand affair, and they kept sharp watch for the first glimpse of the Royal ambassadors. At last, a faint flicker of pale blue wings appeared in the distance, and then the long expected procession of butterflies came floating swiftly through the air. Very brilliant and lovely they looked in the broad blaze of sunshine, and a linnet, perched up in a hawthorn tree, was so charmed with the sight that he composed a song about it and sang it then and there with all his heart in it. The beautiful butterflies did not stop in their graceful flight for the Lilies, or the Crocuses, or any other aristocratic flower; they descended to the Forget-me-nots, rose again lightly and went on to the Violet, where three of them rested an instant, then on again, now and then fluttering down to give invitations to some modest field flowers almost hidden in the grass--sometimes poising on the white blossoms of the blackthorn, sometimes disappearing in the scented cups of early bluebells--away they flew bearing King Buttercup’s message to his chosen guests, and in a few seconds they had left far behind them the brilliant cluster of cultivated flowers that had sneered so unkindly at the Monarch of Meadowland. The Hyacinths trembled with anger, and the complexions of the Crocuses grew even yellower in the extremity of their disappointment. But they said nothing, they knew well enough they had deserved the slight they had received.

The day passed, and the young May moon smiled radiantly down on sleeping Flowerland. The Violet, who had been greatly excited by receiving a royal invitation, and the Forget-me-nots also, could scarcely close their eyes all night, and therefore they saw a party of the Fungus Elves practising their dances for the next evening. A pretty sight it was to see them all troop out from under the cover of the funguses which are their houses, and then to watch them gracefully skipping about in the moonshine. They were all dressed in brown and silver, and wore crowns of dewdrops, and nothing could exceed the activity and ease of their motions. Ten glow-worms lit up the grass on which they danced, and altogether it was a charming sight. Violet looked on at their fantastic capers till she fell unconsciously into a sound slumber from which she did not awake till the first streak of morning appeared in the east. A great noise of booming and buzzing then aroused her, and opening her dark blue eyes she saw that the Town Criers were all passing her dwelling on their way to the wedding. Looking around her, she observed the coquettish Forget-me-nots busily engaged in dressing themselves for the occasion, and what a fuss they made to be sure! They washed all their leaves, and were most particular to arrange a dewdrop in the centre of each one of their blossoms. They certainly would have been the latest arrivals at the King’s Palace had they not been reminded how time was going by a cross old grasshopper with a squeaky voice, who was hurrying off to the wedding as fast as he could go.

“There you are!” he grumbled, “dressing yourselves and muddling about, just as women always do. When are you going to start, pray? I suppose you’ll arrive just as the ceremony is ended!”--And on he hopped faster than ever. The Forget-me-nots now hurried the finishing of their toilette, and the Violet hastily arose from her mossy couch. Putting on her richest purple robe, she summoned a fly (you can hire flies in Flowerland as you can in our world, only you do not pay them so much), and seating herself on his back, away she went to the marriage festival, and succeeded in reaching the meadow just as the King entered. What a scene it was to be sure! Such a vast concourse of flowers had never been seen assembled in one field before. They were all packed together as closely as they could stand, and all pressed eagerly towards one spot, where the spider-woven canopy was erected. And a wonderful canopy it was, finer than silk, and studded thickly with dewdrops of all sizes that glittered like the rarest diamonds. Under it, King Buttercup sat on his throne waiting the approach of his bride. He was the cynosure of all eyes, and in truth he was a handsome little fellow. He wore a robe of cloth of gold, and on his head was placed a golden crown, and his bright face shone with happiness. Beside him stood his attendant groomsmen, the Celandines, together with several other distinguished Flower-people, many of whom bore titles of distinction. There was Count Dandelion, one of the handsomest soldiers in Meadowland, who had travelled in many countries, and, it was said, had saved many lives at the risk of losing his own. He looked very gorgeous in his showy uniform of pale green and gold, and he was engaged in what seemed to be a very interesting conversation with the beautiful Lady Pimpernel, who was one of the greatest belles and coquettes of the court. Then there was the Grand Duke of Borage who was flirting desperately with the young Duchess Eye-bright, and the gallant nobleman Lord Fox-Glove was busy paying most devoted attention to the graceful and fascinating Marchioness Meadowsweet. There were knights and nobles in abundance, and in short all the rank, wealth and beauty of Meadowland had gathered to King Buttercup’s wedding. Many were curious to see the bride, as few persons present knew what she was like, and all they had heard was that she was very small and shy and timid. But now there was heard a great clash of armour, and a brilliant regiment of Rose Beetles splendidly attired in green coats of mail appeared on the field and formed in two lines, one on each side of the King. Then came the Bees or Town Criers, and took their places;--after which a strain of sweet melody was heard, and lo! a skylark rose into the air, fluttering his pretty wings and singing as only skylarks can sing, with a clear joyous voice that made the very heavens ring with music. And perhaps it is because he sang so beautifully on this occasion, that ever since that time the skylarks that live in the fields and woodlands round about Shakespeare’s Town are famous for their lovely clear voices, which break forth in a chorus of the most joyous melody in the world every year when Spring colours the trees green, and fills the meadows with flowers. They are, as they certainly must be, the descendants of that special bird which carolled so merrily on the morning King Buttercup was married. He warbled the “Wedding Anthem” instead of the conceited thrush, and as he sang, all the blossoms rustled their leaves expectantly, for it was time for the bride to appear. A few seconds more of suspense and anxiety, and then a deepening murmur of applause and admiration ran through the dense crowd of Flowers as the fair Daisy entered. What a lovely little creature she was!--So simple, so pure and innocent;--so shy and sweet she looked in her snow-white robes, with her little golden bodice and crown! She was followed by her fair bridesmaids, the Anemones, but beautiful though they were, simple little Daisy outshone them all. King Buttercup rose from his throne and advanced to meet her--all the Bees buzzed, the Rose Beetles clashed their swords, and the Skylark sang louder and louder, hovering, like a living jewel in the sunshine, just above the Royal Canopy. Now as the little Daisy approached her kingly bridegroom, her great happiness and honour seemed more than she could bear, and a faint beautiful rose-blush tinged her tiny white petals. That is the reason why so many daisies are pink-tipped to this very hour. The King bowed low and led her to his throne,--then, turning to his courtiers and friends, said in a small voice as clear as a bell,--

“Loving subjects!--It has seemed good to us that in order to maintain the honour and position of our Kingdom and State, we should take upon ourselves the solemn duty of matrimony. In choosing a partner for our Throne, we have not considered rank and wealth so much as virtue and goodness, and in all our search we have been unable to find a fairer or more modest maiden flower than the Daisy, whom we now have the honour to present to you as your future Queen. We feel confident that the many beauties of her mind and the sweetness and constancy of her character will enhance the value of our Throne and increase the happiness and prosperity of our Kingdom. Moreover, it has been made known to us that in days to come, that portion of Flowerland whereon we now grow and flourish will be made valuable and beloved to all the rest of the world by the presence of a far greater King than ourselves,--one who will lead the thoughts of men even as we lead the first golden blossoming-out of Spring. Therefore it shall be our duty to make this centre of our realm beautiful with all the fairest thoughts of love and grace and innocence which can charm a Poet’s fancy, and we here decree that these fields by the river shall be the beginning of all lovely fields in all lovely lands. None shall be more peaceful and pure,--none shall be more full of gold and silver bloom,--none shall be more delicately fragrant, or more sweetly surrounded by the singing of birds. Subjects, behold your Queen! Before you all, I proudly declare my love for her;--and from henceforth shall Buttercup and Daisy dwell together in loving hope to make the world brighter and happier for their blossoming!”

Loud cheers responded to the King’s speech, and then the marriage ceremony commenced. The venerable Archbishop Ivy, glorious in his glossy green sleeves and quaintly twisted brown mitre, read the service and pronounced the Blessing, and then, as King Buttercup kissed Queen Daisy, there began a general “March past” of all the representatives of Meadowland. What a wonderful sight that was! The West Wind, who kept on blowing the news as hard as he could to all the four quarters of the globe, found it almost impossible to telegraph his description of the scene fast enough, though he was generally admitted to be an excellent reporter. The procession was almost interminable, and lasted nearly all day. Then there was the wedding Breakfast which took place under a beautiful tent of gossamer-web, round which a thousand tall Cowslips, officers of the Royal guard, stood “at attention.” Innumerable Ladybirds, in black and scarlet livery, ran about, waiting upon the King and Queen and their distinguished guests, and some specially selected Moths, in brown coats and white stockings, brought various kinds of honey-dew and sweet nectar to fill the Royal cups. Then came a grand dance, and the King, leading his fair Consort out, opened the Ball with her. All the flower-eyes were turned upon the Royal pair as they glided together over the green meadow in the light of the setting sun at the close of the long bright festival-day,--and on the very edge of the grass, as an uninvited spectator, stood the dandy Tulip who had sneered at the whole business of the marriage in the morning when he had first heard of it. Yes, there he was, twirling his petals just as some gentlemen twirl their moustaches.

“Upon my word!” he exclaimed--“The new Queen is not bad-looking!”

Jealous Lady Hyacinth, who had followed him, heard what he said and was very angry.

“Not bad-looking!” she cried in a little shrill voice--“How dare you, Sir Tulip! Do you not remember that you admired _Me_ yesterday?”

“Ah, but that _was_ yesterday!” drawled the Tulip--“You are all very well in your way, but you are heavy, my dear Lady Hyacinth!--large and heavy!--You do not wear well!”

“Dear me!” said a tall stately-looking flower-personage, attired in purest white and carrying a golden wand like a sceptre--“How you ‘cultivated’ persons quarrel! I have never seen worse manners even among the frogs in Egypt! Really, Lady Hyacinth, your relatives the Bluebells are much better behaved!”

Sir Tulip waved his leaves carelessly with a rakish air, and Lady Hyacinth trembled with rage,--for it was the Lily who had come all the way from the Nile who thus reproached them, and she was a great authority on deportment.

Meanwhile the Buttercup and Daisy danced on, and all the other field and woodland flowers danced too, till the sun sank and the moon rose, and the meadows shone with the silvery reflections of a million fantastic and graceful forms that swayed to and fro in the wind like pretty gleams of pale sunshine on dark green water. The river murmured and plashed among the reeds--tall osiers nodded their heads in drowsy time to the flying feet of the flower-dancers, and little moor-hens paddled to and fro from one bank of moss to the other, gossiping and making their comments on the beauty and brilliancy of King Buttercup’s State Ball. Higher and higher the moon climbed into the dark blue heaven,--the stars came out--and then the Laureate singer and Chief Minstrel of Meadowland, the Nightingale, began to sing. As soon as he tuned up his first rich liquid note, the dancing ceased,--and all the flowers stood stock still just where they were in the field and bent their heads to listen, while tears of dew filled their eyes. And King Buttercup and Queen Daisy, seeing all their subjects thus entranced, stole softly away together like the fond little lovers they were, and lay down to rest on a Royal couch of budding wild thyme and velvet moss. And the nightingale sang on and on,--and the glow-worms came out and twinkled, and all the flowers fell asleep together, and their spirits wandered away to the beautiful Land of Dreams. And what they saw there, who shall tell? Queen Daisy rested her little head on the golden heart of her King, and they too folded themselves up closely and slept and dreamed, while the nightingale warbled a serenade and lullaby in one all the night long. It was a magical night, and a magical wedding; and the wonder of it all is that ever since then the fields have been full of buttercups and daisies, and we have grown to know them so well and love them so much that if they were taken away from us we should not know what to do, or how to replace them. And if you want to know the exact spot where King Buttercup’s marriage took place,--well!--there is a corner by the river Avon, just between two beautiful bending willows, where you will find.... But, no!--I will not tell you what you will find in that enchanted little nook. For if you know anything about Fairyland, you do not need telling!

HOW JACK BUILT HIS HOUSE

JACK told a lie.

That was the beginning of the foundation of his House.

There was no necessity for him to tell the lie. There never is really any necessity for telling a Lie, and no good ever comes of it. Yet Jack told it. He lied to those who loved him best,--to those who had given him all he had in the world,--to those who had done everything for him, and who had set their hearts on his turning out a true-hearted lad, and an honest man. Well,--he didn’t think about those folks at all;--he simply thought about Himself. He wished to protect Himself from the consequences of an act of folly. And he thought the best way to do that was to tell a good, thumping Lie, and put it up as a sort of brazen shield between Himself and a disagreeable half-hour. So he told it, quite cheerfully, and with a delightfully candid air of truth, chuckling secretly to himself when he saw that the people who loved him were foolish enough to believe him and trust to his honour.

He had, however, missed one awkward point in the matter. He did not know that the telling of one Lie would necessitate the telling of another to keep the first one up. But it was so. The first Lie was terribly unsafe at certain moments, and he was afraid that the foundation of his House would give in. However, the second Lie was easily invented, and the two false bricks in the human building were successfully set together with a little mortar of hypocrisy, and so steadied each other.

After that, things progressed quickly, and the House grew up so rapidly, and to such a size, that it seemed as if a whole army of little demon bricklayers and plasterers from the lower regions of the wicked had come of their own accord to assist Jack in carrying out his design. One on top of the other the Lies were set in order, till Jack became so delighted with the showy appearance of his building that he altogether forgot there was such a thing as Truth in the world. Lies became so much a part of his existence that he told them on every occasion.

From a Boy he grew, with his House, into a Man, and went on lying. With an air of the most ingenuous candour he looked his neighbours smilingly in the face and lied to them all day long. He lied in business, he lied at home. He lied to friends, he lied to foes. Nobody knew where to have him, his lies were so cunningly and cleverly adjusted. When through dint of cheating, corruption, and fraud, he had managed to amass a large fortune through the ruin of others, he lied to Himself and said he was a good man. Thus you see he had nearly reached the top of the House he was building. Still entirely satisfied with his palatial Residence, he kept on adding a brick or two here, an archway there, an additional column or extra ornamental pinnacle in various directions, till at last, when he was getting on in life, and was beginning to be rather fat and pursy, he decided to put the Roof on. He went down to a great Money-market to do that, and floated a large company on a big Lie.

And so the Roof, all sparkling with gold and silver, was put on the splendid House that Jack built, and Jack went home to eat a gorgeous dinner within its walls, and take his ease for the remainder of his days.

But just as he arrived at the door of his grand Establishment, he saw a little beggar-lad, about as young as he had been himself when he first began to build. And this little beggar-lad, ragged and dirty and foot-sore, was actually presuming to stand in Jack’s great entrance-hall as if he had every right to be there!--in fact, as if the house belonged to him! Jack was furious.

“What are you doing here, you rascal?” he spluttered. “How dare you come here? Who the devil are you?”

The little beggar-lad looked him full in the face, and did not budge an inch.

“My name is Truth,” he said; “and I am here to knock down your House of Lies!”

Whereupon he raised his little child’s hand--and lo! without any sound at all, but as rapidly as a heap of snow melting away in hot sunshine, the house that Jack built with so much care and concern crumbled to atoms and disappeared, leaving no trace of itself but a faint bad smell like the passing of an open dust-cart.

Now some people passing by looked at the blank space where it had once stood, and said: “Dear me! There used to be a House of Lies here, and everybody thought it would last for ever!”

“Not everybody,” said the little beggar-lad, as he stepped out among them: “only the Jack that built it!”

And with that he also disappeared.

And where was Jack? What had become of him? Well, he had fallen with the ruin of his House--and he must have died in a very strange and awful fashion; for just near the dust of the two first Lies he had set together in boyhood as a foundation for the after-building of his life there was seen a crawling Worm, writhing itself in and out through the wet mould. And the Worm was the coward Soul of a false lad who never became a true Man!

THE SWIMMING SHOES

A FAIRY STORY

ON a beautiful clear lake swam a large family of Ducks. At the head of them all was the Mother-Duck, quacking proudly, and all the ducklings tried to imitate her voice, which they considered superior to that of the nightingale.

“Quack! Quack!” said she--“We have had enough of the water to-day. Let us swim to shore and see what kind of dinner we can pick up.”

Thereupon she turned briskly towards the land, and all her children dutifully followed her example, except the two youngest, who were very wilful and obstinate.

“What greedy creatures you are!” they cackled,--“Never can five minutes pass in peace without your wanting something to eat! We do not intend to come on shore; no! we shall remain here on the water and swim about by ourselves.”

“Naughty children!” screamed old Mother-Duck--“Come to me directly! The first lesson of life is obedience to your parents, so just come on shore at once!”

“Oh, bother you!” replied the two rude young ducklings--“You are an old Silly! Yes--we repeat it,--an old Silly! You know nothing. What! Are we going to obey you? No, indeed! We are much too clever for that,--much wiser than you are, and that’s the sober truth. So leave off scolding, if you please, for we mean to stay where we are.”

Now under the waters of the lake lived a little sprite, a good fairy, who hated naughty, disobedient children, as all good fairies do. And when he heard the ducklings, how they talked so rudely to their mother, he determined to punish them for their ill-manners.

“Tiresome little things!” he thought--“They want a lesson; and a lesson, and a sharp one too they shall have!”

With this, in the twinkling of an eye, he turned them into a pair of wooden shoes, and threw them on the shore in a heap of sand and mud. There they lay, quite dumb and unable to move. The old Duck and the rest of her family, seeing them disappear so suddenly, thought they had dived under the water to hide themselves. So without more ado, they waddled away with a great noise, cackling and lamenting over the wicked disobedience that had been shown by these two youngest ducklings to their Mother, who had been so kind to them. Meanwhile, they themselves lay in the mud quite still, no longer beautiful and shiny ducks, but only wooden shoes, and very ugly ones too.

The worst of it all was, that, shoes as they were, they suffered dreadfully from a desire to swim, and thus suffering they said to themselves,--

“Oh! if we could only get into the water! If some one would put us in--just for an instant!”

But they wished and sighed in vain, for an old peasant who was passing by at this moment caught sight of them and exclaimed,--

“Hullo! hullo! here are shoes! Yes, _shoes_, as I am a living man! Now this is what I call a lucky find!”

With these words he put them on, and walked away in the greatest state of excitement. But the shoes were much too small for him,--they pinched his gouty toes and made him altogether very uncomfortable, so on reaching home he told his wife he had bought her a nice pair of wooden shoes.

“I hope they will fit you,” he said--“I have often noticed, my dear, how the old shoes you wear let in the damp--now these will keep you warm and comfortable!”

The old wife tried them on. She was delighted with them. They fitted her to a T, as the saying is, and with hearty words and big tears of gratitude in her eyes, she thanked her tender husband again and again. He received these thanks in a very sly manner, for he knew in his heart that he did not altogether deserve them.

“I have,” he said inwardly, “given her something which cost me nothing,--absolutely nothing!” But he kept this to himself and smiled very good-humouredly, and thought--“Yes, yes! She ought to be grateful--of course she ought. And she _is_ grateful. Ha! ha! That is the best of it!”

The next morning the old woman went down to the river to fetch a pitcher of water, and on her way she observed that her shoes were very muddy.

“I will wash them in the river,” she thought, “and then my husband will see what care I take of them--”

No sooner said than done. The shoes were put in the water,--but what was her astonishment, and her fright too, when she saw them swimming away as fast as they could go! The fact is that the transformed ducks no sooner found themselves in the water than they felt compelled to swim--to swim, as it were, for life and death. And on they went, and on and on, quite heedless of the poor old woman who sat down on the shore and cried bitterly. Her shoes had now gone away so far that they looked to her no bigger than bits of floating cork; and while she was lamenting and crying, her husband came suddenly upon her. When he was informed of what happened he gave her a good beating for letting the shoes go so easily, and then he starved her all day to make up (as he said) for the price of them. Ah! what a kind man he was!

Meanwhile the shoes went sailing away, and never once stopped to inquire where they were going, till suddenly they struck against some obstacle in the water. It was the blade of an oar, and they immediately saw that they were close to a small rowing-boat, in which sat two children,--a girl of about ten or eleven years of age, and her brother, a sturdy lad some five or six years older. The little girl leaned over the side of the boat to see what had happened to the oar, and exclaimed,--

“Oh, look! A pair of shoes! A pair of wooden shoes! What a funny thing to find a pair of shoes in the sea!”

Laughing merrily, she reached out her hand, and caught the shoes, one after the other, and lifted them into the boat.

“They are actually quite new,” said her brother, examining them with curiosity. “And I do believe they will just fit you. Try them on--” And he put one on his sister’s little foot. It fitted beautifully, so she put on the other, and then both children laughed aloud,--clear ringing laughter, like the tinkling of silver bells in a sledge.

“This is a good day’s fishing!” exclaimed the little girl. “Wooden shoes are not exactly pretty, but they are strong and useful, and these will save mother buying me a new pair. They come at the right time, too, for mine are worn into holes!”

As soon as the children landed, they ran home to tell their adventure. Their home was a hut on the sea-shore, and a very poor hut it was, for their father was only a fisherman, and they, with their mother, helped him to earn a living by making and mending the nets. The good mother smiled when she saw her little daughter return--she looked so bright and happy, and so proud of her wooden shoes.

“It is a lucky fishing,” she said--“and I will say nothing to spoil your pleasure, my little one; though your father told me to give you and Denis a scolding--”

Denis flushed angrily.

“Why, mother?” he inquired--“Why should we be scolded?”

“Nay, Denis,” said the mother gravely; “you should not ask, for you know the reason well enough. Your father has forbidden you to go out in the boat after dark, and yet you _will_ do it, and what is worse, you take your little sister into the same danger as yourself,--and, as for you, Nanette,” she added, turning to the child, who stood silent and ashamed, “I wonder how you can be so naughty! I have told you never to go out at night with your brother. He does not know enough about the coast and the hidden rocks, on which many a brave ship has struck and foundered. But you are both so wild and wilful because you know I have too much to do to be always on the watch for your foolish pranks. You care nothing for your mother. Now that you are so pleased with the wooden shoes, I foresee what will happen. You will be always on the water, trying to find something else,--and some day you will both be drowned. Come, Nanette, be a good child, and promise me, at any rate, that you will not go out in the boat after sunset. Denis will not care to go alone, and so you will both be obedient. Come, come, promise me!”

“I promise you, mother,” said Nanette in a low voice.

Denis said nothing, and both children looked sad and sullen. As for the wooden shoes, the excitement about them soon subsided, though Nanette continued to wear them all day,--but they themselves noticed how reluctantly the little feet of their wearer seemed to run on the various domestic errands required,--and in what a petulant humour the golden-haired little Nanette seemed to be.

Night came at last, and the lovely moon rode high in the heavens, looking as round and bright as a silver shield. Every tiny wavelet on the sea was tipped with light, and here and there a deeper line of radiance showed plainly where the phosphorescent fish were gambolling and darting to and fro under the water. On the shore stood Denis, the fisherman’s son. He was stealthily at work, unfastening the moorings of his father’s skiff, and every now and then he glanced towards the hut in fear lest his parents should be on the watch. But the little home was shut for the night, and all was dark and silent. Carefully and almost noiselessly, young Denis pushed the boat towards the edge of the water, and then he ran swiftly to one of the windows of the hut and tapped softly. In another moment Nanette appeared, and with her brother’s help, she climbed through the window, and soon stood beside him. She wore her wooden shoes--and oh, how unhappy they felt! How they wished they could say, “Nanette! dear little Nanette! don’t disobey your mother!”

But they could only creak a faint disapproval as she ran along the shore in eager and feverish haste to be out with her brother on that sparkling and beautiful ocean. Quite forgetful of her promise to her mother, she laughed in sheer enjoyment of her own naughtiness and wilfulness, and as Denis pushed out the boat and rowed quickly and steadily away from land, she clapped her hands in excitement and exclaimed,--

“Oh, what a lovely night! What a shame it would be to stay in bed while the moon is shining so brightly!”

“Yes,” replied Denis, as he bent to the oars and rowed as swiftly as he could--“Father is very unkind to wish to prevent us enjoying ourselves. We do no harm.”

“Besides,” added Nanette, “even if the sea _did_ get rough, you know how to manage a boat in a storm, don’t you?”

“Of course,” said Denis confidently--“But there’s no fear of a storm to-night. We are safe enough.”

As he spoke there came a sudden crash and crack--they had gone straight on a sharp rock!--a treacherous rock, hidden in the waves and unknown to any but experienced sailors. Their boat was splitting! The water rushed in--Denis looked about him in despair. They were three or four miles from the shore--poor Nanette screamed loudly.

“Be quiet!” cried her brother; “I will save you, dear! I can swim!” And, flinging off all the clothes that might impede his movements, he threw one strong arm round his sister, who was now speechless with terror, and plunging boldly into the waves with her, made gallant efforts to reach the land. As they left it, their boat parted asunder and broke in pieces. Oh, what fearful moments were those in which the unhappy children struggled for life and death, battling with the cruel sea!

Thoughts of their mother,--the disobedience they had shown towards her,--the picture of her despair and sorrow when she should hear of their dreadful end,--all the little touching memories of home swarmed thickly in upon them,--and Nanette gasped for breath.

“Are we going to die?” she muttered feebly.

“Yes, dear,” said poor Denis, “I am afraid so. My strength is going. I can’t swim any more.”

Then came a terrible moment, when all around them seemed of a blood-red colour--then it changed to a vivid green. The moon itself, the sky, the stars, all became green as the green water,--then gradually the arms of Denis relaxed, and the poor children sank together, down, down to their deaths. The moon shone, and the stars sparkled as brilliantly as ever, and only the floating pieces of the little boat remained on the rippling sea. Only the wreck?--No--there was something else,--the wooden shoes! They had been loosened by the movement of the waves from the feet of the poor little Nanette, and there they were, on their travels as before. They felt dreadfully miserable, and were very much shocked and frightened at the sudden and tragic end of their late owner.

“She disobeyed her mother,” thought they,--and they quivered and creaked as the water carried them along, for they remembered their own disobedience when they were ducklings; but they had not much time to think seriously, for they were now in the open sea, and they were obliged to go at a very rapid rate. After several days and nights of journeying without any fresh adventures, they arrived at a part of the ocean where a dreadful storm was raging. The sky was black as ink, and the thunder rolled and crashed among the clouds in a frightful manner. Suddenly a blaze of red fire sprang up into the sky--then another and another, and the shoes saw they were signal rockets from a ship in distress. Swimming on and on, they at last perceived an enormous vessel rocking to and fro on the mountainous waves, and they heard her tall masts fall, splintered by the lightning. Suddenly there came a great crash,--a gurgling noise,--and then all was over. Now and then the shoes saw some unhappy creature struggling with the great waves for a few seconds and then sucked down in an abyss to certain destruction. They were very much terrified at this dreadful scene, and they were trying to swim out of it as fast as possible, when they found themselves clutched by a man’s hand, probably in mistake for a plank or spar. The man was in the last agonies of drowning, and as he released his grasp of the wooden shoes, a flash of lightning illumined for a moment his ghastly and contorted features. Struggling to lift himself above the riotous and lofty billows, he cried, “Mother! mother! forgive my long disobedience!”

And with this last supreme effort of strength, the unfortunate sailor sank and was lost for ever.

The wooden shoes were now completely horrified at the awful sights it had been their lot to see.

“What an experience!” they said to themselves--“Oh, how much better to be ducks than shoes! Surely no happy duck in a pond ever witnessed such scenes! The life of a duck in a pond is so peaceful--so placid!”

“Oh, if they had never disobeyed their good, kind Mother-Duck,” they thought!--but, in spite of their recollections, they were compelled to go swimming on as they were, and so they got carried by a cross current out of the ocean down a great river, and out of the great river into a smaller one, and out of that into a lake,--a beautiful clear lake which they seemed to remember. As they floated along pleasant memories came into them, and they felt as if something strange was about to happen.

Suddenly they saw a beautiful duck with shining feathers coming towards them, and they nearly jumped out of the water in their excitement, for they moaned creakily to themselves,--

“We were ducks once! we were ducks once!”

“Yes,” said a soft voice near--“Poor little Nanette was alive once, but she disobeyed her mother, and now where is she?”

The shoes trembled in the water, and then said to themselves,--

“If we could be ducks again, we would never disobey our mother!”

Scarcely had they thought this than they felt a most curious change coming over them, and ere they had time to consider what it was, lo and behold!--they saw themselves mirrored in the water, two beautiful plump ducks, with rainbow-tinted plumes and sleek shining heads, swimming gracefully along!

“Quack! quack!” they said--“Now we know where we are! This is the same lake where we were born, and where we used to float,--and there is our dear home, over there by the shore! Let us find our mother, and we will never disobey her again!”

And neither they did. They were heartily welcomed home; and their strange adventures served to amuse the whole farm-yard for several months, though a cross old Turkey-cock was one day heard to gobble out,--

“I don’t believe they were ever shoes at all! When they disobeyed their mother, they lost themselves and got frightened;--then they hid away for a time, and came back with an absurd story they just invented to make themselves look important!”

But whoever pays attention to the gobblings of a Turkey-cock?

CHILDREN’S EVENING HYMN

IN our hearts celestial voices
Softly say:
“Day is passing, Night is closing,
Kneel and Pray!”

Father, we obey the summons,
Hear our cry!
Pity us, and help our weakness,
Thou Most High!

For the joys that most we cherish
Praised be Thou!
Good and gentle art Thou ever,
Hear us now!

Coming morrow we may never
Live to see;
All we ask Thee is to keep us
Safe with Thee!

May our dreams be of Thy Kingdom
Bright and fair;
Where at last we hope to meet Thee,
Free from care.

Now the stars are shining o’er us
In the skies;
Looking like the watching Angels’
Loving eyes.

Softly now and slowly dying
Ends our strain,--
Grant that we may in Thy Kingdom
Sing again.

There, when all our strife is over,
Sin forgiven,
May we dwell with Thee for ever
Up in Heaven!

FOOTNOTES: