THE SKY WORLD, by Pixy
The whispering gallery of the sky world is a wonderful place. It is a fairies have hung a magical curtain, woven from the colors of the great round tunnel, and across the end of it nearest the earth the rainbow, and filled with patterns of all kinds. You might call it a sensitive sheet of color. It contains globes and triangles and squares and stars and all sorts of devious shapes. All the words that have been used in the cave of the air are collected here, for after they have been heard the fairy to whom they are given doesn't care to carry them around or pack them away like so much baggage, so they built the whispering gallery, and as the words float into it they are attracted to the various figures, each of which is lustrous with color, and as they pass through the figures they are changed into human thought and reflected to the earth to be used by anybody who wishes them.
Besides this common stock of pretty thoughts they are always ready to send specially prepared packages of thoughts to any one.
The palace of the Fairy Queen, who is the jolliest sylph in all the jolly crowd, is beautiful beyond words, and you must really make the trip yourselves if you would appreciate its beauty and convenience. It is built on a magical plan. It never contains less than a thousand rooms, but it can never be overcrowded, for the bigger the crowd the bigger the palace grows, and sometimes all the fairies of the air gather within its walls to dance or banquet or play at games.
Next in importance to the palace is the home of the Fairy Mother, who conducts a great thought factory. She has rooms upon rooms filled full of all kinds of nice thoughts, and she is continually inventing new kinds, and all of them are free to all who want them, whether men or fairies. She also keeps a picture gallery, in which there are photographs of the minds of all the Earth people, showing how they are from day to day. Careful watch is kept of this, and every day the fairies send to each person the kind of thoughts they need to make them happy. But even with this close watch they cannot always help the humans, unless the latter are willing to be happy, for while the fairies can send the right kind of thoughts, they cannot compel people to use them against their will.
Then we visited a sport factory, where new games are being invented.
All of the sky fairies are great workers, but they are all so happy that their work is play to them, and they tell me that in all their history they have never had among themselves the least bit of ill humor, though sometimes they are saddened by the troubles human people inflict upon themselves.
We went to many other places, and it really seemed that we spent many hours of time, but when Verita and Purita brought me home the clock was striking eleven.
THE MAIDEN FISH-TAMER
(From "The Templar's Magazine," January, 1870.)
A few years ago I read in the newspapers that a little girl in the town of Hingham, in Massachusetts, had tamed the fishes in a small lake near her father's residence. I will give the facts as they occurred at the time, and in the language which I employed then, in giving some account of them. Visiting the place for the purpose of ascertaining the truth of what had been said, but arriving somewhat late in the day, I deferred the specific inquiries which were the object of my coming till the next morning.
Quite early in the morning, passing through a long reach of woods, which was without habitation, I came to the little girl's residence, which was near the small lake or pond. Knocking at the door, and making such apology as I was able for a visit so early, I remarked to the mother that I had come for the purpose of seeing the fishes over which her little daughter was said to have obtained a remarkable control. Readily accepting my explanations, she pointed to a place on the brink of the water, and said that her daughter would soon go down there. I had not stood there long before a little girl, apparently anxious not to detain me, came running down.
Seating herself on a rock near the shore, and looking into the mirror of the morning waters, she called aloud to the fishes, calling them sometimes by the names of their tribes and sometimes by particular names which she had given them. There was one, a large one, in which she was particularly interested, which she called Cato. But Cato either did not hear her, or was not in a hurry to come. She made an apology for the fishes, saying that it was earlier than she had been in the habit of calling them, and that they had not yet left their places of slumber. But, repeating still louder the invitations of her sweet voice, they soon began to make their appearance. The smaller ones came first, and then the larger ones of many varieties, and at last Cato, who was a sort of king and counsellor in this finny congregation, came among them. Delighted with this renewed visit of their virgin queen, although they seemed to be conscious it was rather early in the morning, they thrust their heads above the water, and she fed them from her hand. And I fed them, also.
Observing something peculiar at a little distance in the water, I was surprised to see two turtles making their way toward her. Her voice of affection had penetrated beneath their dark, hard shells. And I noticed that they came with great effort and zeal, as if afraid of being too late at this festival of love. As soon as they reached the shore one of them scrambled out of the water and climbed upon the little rock beside her. She fed them both. I shall not easily forget this interesting scene — this little episode of millennial humanity.
Oh, maiden of the woods and wave,
With footsteps in the morning dew!
From oozy bed and watery cave,
The tenants of the lake who drew,
Thy voice of love the mystery knew,
Which makes old bards and prophets true.
They tell us of that better day,
When love shall rule the. world again;
When crimes and fraud shall pass away,
And beast and bird shall dwell with men;
When seas shall marry with the land,
And fishes kiss a maiden's hand.
The iron age has done its best
With trump and sword and warrior's slain;
But could not tame the eagle's nest,
Nor lead the lion by the mane;
With all its strength and all its woe,
There was an art it did not know.
'Twas fitting that a maid like thee,
In childhood's bright and happy hour,
Should teach the world the mystery
That white-robed innocence has power;
That love the victory can gain,
Which is not won by millions slain.
Oh, man, if thou wouldst know the art,
The shattered world to reinstate,
Like her put on a loving heart,
And throw away the guile and hate.
A maid shall tell thee how 'tis done,
A child shall show the victory won.