Uncle Joe's Stories

by Baron Edward Hugessen Knatchbull-Hugessen Brabourne

"I might have you dealt with in the same way," he said; "and if I did so, there is no one present who would not warmly approve and say, 'served her right.' But a true mannikin is never bloodthirsty, and I will not adjudge to you that fate which you so richly deserve. Still, since your power has been always exercised for ill, it must remain to you no longer. I sentence you to be immediately and henceforth confined in a cave at the extreme eastern corner of the world, never to emerge thence until the hour comes when women leave off caring for dress, men labour no more for power, and donkeys abandon braying."

Scarcely had Canetto finished speaking, when the unfortunate being, upon whom he had pronounced this appalling sentence, uttered one frantic yell, and then disappeared in a whirlwind, which carried her right away over the forest. Nobody ever saw or heard of her again to my knowledge, but there is very little doubt that the sentence of the King of the Mannikins was duly carried out. The wise men, who have studied these things carefully, say that there is very clear and certain proof of this. In the spring-time of the year, especially about March, a cold, bitter, spiteful wind blows from the east, seizes delicate throats and tender noses, keeps people indoors when they much desire air and exercise; and if they attempt to get either, afflicts them with heavy colds, and what modern doctors call "bronchial affections," meaning much the same thing as that which our poor benighted fathers and mothers used to call "sore throats." Well, do you think this east wind is a common, ordinary, respectable wind? Not at all. It is nothing more nor less (say these wise ones) than the wicked old Fairy Nuisancenika, who, heartily tired of her imprisonment in the cavern, fumes and rages madly about, and sometimes gets near enough to the mouth of the cave to spit and blow out some of her venom into the world. Then comes disease to man and beast, and whenever I think of it I regret that Canetto did not serve the wretched old hag as he did her polecats and adders, and direct his mannikins to cut her in pieces with their hunting-whips. Just fancy if he had! Perhaps we should have had no more of those cruel east winds. But it was fated otherwise, and this is the result.

At all events, the bad fairy was comfortably got rid of so far as the royal family of King Fridolin were concerned, and there is very little more to be said about the rest that followed. Of course everything now went rightly. Messages were sent to Zac's real father—the story of Canetto having been entirely confirmed by Farmer Dickson—and the result was in every respect satisfactory. The king of the country of the Red Camellias was delighted to recover his long lost son, and showed his sense of what was right and proper under the circumstances by dying shortly after the wedding of Zac and Belinda had been duly celebrated. The young prince consequently conveyed his lovely and loving bride to his own country, where they reigned for many years in great happiness and prosperity.

Amabilia and Concaterina, having a mother's influence to guide them, improved daily in every respect, and had no difficulty whatever in securing royal husbands within the time prophesied by Canetto, whose courts they adorned by their beauty and whose homes they made happy by their domestic virtues.

As for King Fridolin, he passed the evening of his days more happily than any other part of his life. Conscious of his former folly, he learned to appreciate his restored queen as she deserved, and their renewed affection for each other was romantic in its strength and fervour. Canetto paid them occasional visits, and was always received by them with that respect and regard which his conduct had so well earned. Everything flourished thenceforward in Fridolin's kingdom. Even Lord Pompous hailed the change with delight, since his sovereign, occupied constantly in the enjoyment of his newly recovered happiness, omitted the practical jokes upon his lord chamberlain with which he had frequently been wont to solace his idle hours. And during the long years that followed before Fridolin's reign and life ended, the king constantly called to mind the thrilling scenes of interest which I have recounted, and invariably spoke with the greatest thankfulness of the happy thought which came into his head upon that memorable day when he first projected the pig-race.

EVELYN WITH THE FAIRIES.

There was once a little girl who was exceedingly fond of fairy tales. She had read almost all the books that had ever been written about fairies and elves, and never lost an opportunity of hearing a story upon the same subject. The result of so much attention to this particular branch of study was that which might have been expected. She became the most devout believer in the existence of the dear little creatures about whom she read, and had no greater desire than that she might some day or other become personally acquainted with one or more of them.

Her chief regret was caused by the fact (which was, unhappily, too true) that no fairy godmother had presided over her birth, and that none of those pleasant adventures had befallen her which usually follow such an event. Not only was this the case, but, so far as she could ascertain, neither her father, mother, or any of her relations had ever come in contact with a fairy, and she had been, little by little, driven to the conclusion that she belonged to a commonplace, unromantic family, with whom the dwellers in fairyland had no concern and no connection whatever.

This was a sad thought to the child, who was possessed of an extremely lively imagination, and would have liked nothing better than to have lived in those good old days when either a fairy or a witch, an ogre or a dwarf, were to be found at every corner. She looked back to those days with fond delight, and often wished that they might come again. She loved to muse over the tales she had read and heard, and to imagine curious scenes and strange creatures on every side of her, as she rambled through the shrubberies around her father's house, or strolled away into the great woods on one side of the park.

One day she had taken a longer stroll than usual, and suddenly came upon a part of the wood which she never remembered to have seen before. Somehow or other, she had strayed out of the path, and all around her were tangled masses of fern, old pollard-trees bowed down to the ground by age and the weight of their branches, and thickets of thorns and brambles, and here and there patches of smooth grass and moss, without either trees, fern or brambles upon them.