Fairy Tales From All Nations

Transcriber's note
Sixteen page numbers are missing from 136 to 152. None of the stories are missing . This is only an error in numbering.
A. R. MONTALBA.
The time has been, but happily exists no longer, when it would have been necessary to offer an apology for such a book as this. In those days it was not held that
Beauty is its own excuse for being;
on the contrary, a spurious utilitarianism reigned supreme in literature, and fancy and imagination were told to fold their wings, and travel only in the dusty paths of every-day life. Fairy tales, and all such flights into the region of the supernatural, were then condemned as merely idle things, or as pernicious occupations for faculties that should be always directed to serious and profitable concerns. But now we have cast off that pedantic folly, let us hope for ever. We now acknowledge that innocent amusement is good for its own sake, and we do not affect to prove our advance in civilisation by our incapacity to relish those sportive creations of unrestricted fancy that have been the delight of every generation in every land from times beyond the reach of history.
The materials of the following Collection have been carefully chosen from more than a hundred volumes of the fairy lore of all nations; and none of them, so far as the Editor is aware, have been previously translated into English.
The Editor cannot close this brief Preface without expressing his grateful acknowledgments of the enhanced attraction imparted to his little work by Mr. Richard Doyle's admirable Illustrations.
The Illustrations drawn by Richard Doyle, and engraved by G. Dalziel, E. Dalziel, Isabel Thompson, C. T. Thompson, Richard Thompson, and W. T. Green.

hen nursery tales and entertaining stories did not yet exist—and those were dull times for children, for then their youthful paradise wanted its gayest butterfly—there lived two royal children, a brother and sister. They played with each other in a garden allotted to them by their royal sire. This garden was full of the most beautiful and fragrant flowers; its paths were over-spread with golden sands and many-coloured stones, which vied in brilliancy with the dew which glistened on the flowers, illuminated by the splendour of an eastern sun. There were in it cool grottos with rippling streams; fountains spouting high towards heaven; exquisitely chiselled marble statues; lovely arbours and bowers inviting to repose; gold and silver fish swam in the reservoirs, and the most beautiful birds flitted about in gilded cages so spacious that they scarcely felt that they were confined, whilst others at full liberty flew from tree to tree, filling the air with their sweet song. Yet the children who possessed all these delights, and saw them daily, were satiated with them and felt weary. They looked without pleasure on the brilliancy of the stones; the fragrance of the flowers and the dancing water of the fountains no longer attracted them; they cared not for the fish which were mute to them, nor for the birds whose warbling they did not comprehend. They sat mournful and listless beside each other; having everything that children could desire—kind parents, costly toys, the richest clothing, every delicacy the land could furnish, with liberty to roam from morning until evening in the beautiful garden,—still they were unsatisfied and they knew not why!—they could not tell what else they wanted.