The Little Lace-Maker.

THE
GOLDEN GATE
SERIES.
FAIRY TALES
SAN FRANCISCO.
A. ROMAN & C^o̠̤ PUBLISHERS.
John Andres Bay

FAIRY TALES
FROM
GOLD LANDS.

SECOND SERIES.

By MAY WENTWORTH.

High as the clouds are the mountains bold

That tower in the glorious Land of Gold,

And cañons dusky with twilight deep

Where a thousand mystic shadows peep.

There are vineyards graceful with trailing vine

Rich in the wealth of the rosy wine,

There are orange groves and lime trees green

That glint in the sunlight’s glowing sheen,

There are deserts yellow with priceless sand,

All these you will find in the Golden Land.

NEW EDITION, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.

NEW YORK:
A. ROMAN & CO., PUBLISHERS.
SAN FRANCISCO:
417 & 419 MONTGOMERY STREET.
1870.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
A. ROMAN & CO.,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.

Dedication.

TO THE
CHILDREN OF CALIFORNIA,
WITH GOLDEN WISHES FOR THE CHRISTMAS-TIME,
I DEDICATE THIS LITTLE BOOK.
May Wentworth.

PREFACE.

In the pleasant Christmas-time I greet the children everywhere.

To some I shall not be a stranger, for we have met before, not face to face, but in the pages of the last year’s little book. In the sunny days of childhood, a year is so long a time, that when the summer and winter have passed it seems like an age gone by; yet as again I bring my Christmas offering, I hope to be remembered and welcomed as the friend who loves the children well.

They are the true critics, generous and fearless. For their warm hearts and keen appreciation, I write these stories of the Golden Clime.

May the joy and blessedness of the holy Christmas rest upon them, and follow them through all the sunshine and rain of the coming year.

May Wentworth.

San Francisco, 1868.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

FAIRY TALES.

THE LITTLE LACE-MAKER.

It was the happy Christmas Eve, yet it was very cold and dark. Over the quaint old town of Bruges hung the heavy snow-clouds, and the air was filled with snow-flakes, which fell so thick and fast that very soon the ground was covered with a white mantle, quickly hiding the foot-prints of the few who were still out buying the last gifts for beautiful Christmas trees. Through the narrow streets rushed the wind, shrieking round the comers in its shrill whistle, and seeming to say:—

“As I go,

I bring the snow,

On this holy Christmas Eve.

Who can show

Hearts like snow,

On this holy Christmas Eve?

Blow, blow, blow!

Pure and fleecy snow,

On this holy Christmas Eve.”

It was really strange what curious things the wind whistled that night, yet through all ran the refrain of the holy Christmas Eve.

Near the great belfry of Bruges was a stately mansion, where the fires burned brightly in the polished grates with a warm, rosy glow, making upon the wall grotesque shadows of a little boy and girl who were joyous with expectant happiness.

It was early, and the lamps were not yet lighted. The children danced up and down the warm, pleasant room, where they were to remain until the mother called them.

The dear, loving mother had been so busy in the great parlor, doing something full of mystery, yet the children were quite sure it was a delightful mystery, that would bring them a great store of happiness, and they were luxuriating in their own pleasant imaginings. The door was still locked, but the time was fast approaching for the grand opening.

“I can’t wait! I can’t wait much longer,” said the boy, impatiently. “What a lazy old thing Santa Claus is!”

“For shame, brother, to speak so of the good Santa Claus, who brings us such beautiful gifts. I will watch for him, the kind old Santa Claus, to come from the gift land for us in all the wind and snow,” and the little girl ran to the window and drew aside the rich, heavy curtain.

“But Santa Claus always comes down the chimney, little Miss Wisdom,” said the boy, joining her. “How it snows! I’m so glad. ’Twill be such fun for us boys to-morrow.”

“’Tis the old woman up in the clouds, picking her goose for Christmas dinner,” said the little girl, laughing and singing,—

“Old woman, up in the clouds so high,

Making the feathers about us fly,

Picking your geese for Christmas pie,

Give me a piece of it by and by!”

Just then the mother was heard calling, and the children ran into the great parlor, all ablaze with light and beauty. In the center of all rose the beautiful Christmas tree, luminous with shining toys and many-hued candles.

Oh, it was delightful! To the little ones nothing could compare with the long-dreamed-of Christmas tree full of beautiful presents, just what they had been wanting, and hoped that wonderful old diviner, Santa Claus, would think of; and, of the whole year to them, no time was like the glorious Christmas season.

In quite another part of the town, very poor and squalid, lived the lace weavers.

In quaint old buildings, falling to ruins, they were huddled together, many wretched homes under one roof, yet even there they were trying to celebrate the birth of the blessed Christ child.

In the dingy rooms burned cheap tallow candles, and the little ones, with their poor wee gifts, were as happy as the brother and sister with the beautiful Christmas tree in the stately mansion.

One room only, a very small one, up in an attic in the lace-weavers’ quarters, was in darkness. By the window stood a little, sorrowful girl, very pale-faced, all alone, watching the snow-flakes.

It was very cold, and her clothes were thin and ragged. She shivered, for she was quite chilled through. She was an orphan. The father had died, oh! long ago, one whole year, an age in the life of a child. Only the week before, the mother was driven away to her last home in the paupers’ grave-yard, to rest in the plain deal coffin, till beautiful white wings should waft her up to Heaven the Golden.

It was very sad to see the little pale-faced child looking after the paupers’ cart, driven so roughly over the frozen ground, and the kind-hearted neighbors had pitied her, and, though they were poor lace-makers like the mother, they had given her food with their sympathy, and promised to help her on with the trade.

They were true-hearted, honest folk, but somehow in this joyous Christmas season they had all forgotten her, and, far up in the dreary attic-chamber of the old tenement-house, she looked out into the night and storm alone.

It was so dark in the room that she could not bear to leave the window, though the wind whistled in at the loose casement, making quite a clatter, and causing her little teeth to chatter with cold.

She was very hungry. She had eaten the last crust the night before, and everybody had been so busy. It was not strange, she thought, that they had forgotten her.

She could remember the last Christmas they were all together. How busy the mother was making the Christmas pie, and how the father brought home a wooden doll, saying, “’Tis for my good little daughter,” and kissed her. Then, taking her on his shoulder, he danced all about the room, and how the dear mother laughed.

She was so happy then, and now so desolate and wretched. Everybody else was happy; she heard the children shouting, and she was so faint and hungry.

Just then a man, in an oil-cloth coat and cap, came along, and lighted the street lamp opposite the window. That made it more cheerful; still, the child was so cold and hungry, she could bear it no longer.

“I will go out,” she thought, “into the light. Perhaps I shall dare to go in somewhere. The neighbors have been so kind to me, but I’m not used to them as I was to the dear mother. I will wish them a ‘Merry Christmas,’ and they will give me something to eat. Then, perhaps, I can sleep, and go away in my dreams to the beautiful land where it is warm with God’s pleasant sunshine.”

Taking from the shelf a faded shawl and torn bonnet, which had been the mother’s, she fastened them on as well as she could. But they were too large; it was all of no use, they would slip off again.

As she opened the door of her chamber, a great draught of wind rushed in from the street. Some one was coming in at the common staircase. She heard merry voices and footsteps on the stairs. She drew back into the darkness of her own room with shrinking timidity.

Very strange it was to her the cheery laughing, yet she had been as light-hearted once, but it seemed a great while ago.

When the sound of voices died away, she stole softly down the stairs to the door of the great front room, which had always been the grand place to her. Of all the neighbors, the woman in this best room had been most kind to her and the poor mother in her sickness.

The little cold fingers gave a timid knock, but, within, the father and mother were talking, and the little ones laughing so loud, that no one said the welcome “Come in,” or came to open the door.

The cold winds whistled through the uncovered halls of the tenement house, and the child stood waiting with chattering teeth, and feet and hands so benumbed that she thought it would be better out in the street. There she could run and warm herself.

It was snowing fast, and the feathery flakes fell all over the worn shawl, covering its faded colors with soft white down; over the great bonnet that would fall back upon her neck; and over the rich, golden-brown curls, that were left bare to the storm.

As she ran on, the streets grew lighter, and on each side of the way were gay shops, with great windows filled with a thousand beautiful things. How much better it was than staying in the dark attic-room alone; and she thought, if she were not so cold and hungry, she could have quite enjoyed it.

There was a great jolly man walking on before her, humming a song. Presently he stopped to look in at a shop window, and she read in his broad, pleasant face that his heart was kind and loving. So, without stopping to dread it, she ran up to him, saying, “Please, sir, I wish you a merry Christmas.”

“Ah, ha! little one,” he said kindly, “you’ve caught a Christmas gift, but it is too stormy a night for little things like you to be out.” Drawing from his pocket one of many small packages, he said, “My babies will never miss this. Now run home, like a good child; no doubt the mother is calling you now.”

Then he hurried on, and the child, with trembling fingers, untied the parcel. How she hoped it was a piece of bread; but no! It was a pretty toy lamb, with a fleece as white as the snow that was covering her.

She was so much disappointed that the tears ran down her face very fast, and in the storm and cold this was uncomfortable.

Just then the beautiful chimes sounded from the great belfry of Bruges. This Christmas Eve they were played by a famous musician, who sat in the chamber below the belfry, and struck upon an immense key-board like that of a piano. These keys connect with hammers that strike the bells, so that in all the world there are no chimes like those of the belfry of Bruges.

There the grand musician sat and played, throwing the whole harmony of his soul into the music, and all the town of Bruges stopped to listen, and, clasping each other’s hands, whispered softly, “How beautiful!” for the divine music thrilled them.

Above all, it went to the heart of the little hungry child, out alone in the pitiless night and storm. The voices of the matchless chimes led her, and she hurried on to the great belfry, clasping the pretty white lamb closely in her little chilled hand.

Somehow she did not feel so hungry now, and that was a blessing. There was the stately mansion all ablaze with light. She could look in through the rich crimson curtains of the grand parlor window, and see the beautiful Christmas tree, and the happy children dancing around it.

It was very near the belfry, and she sat down on the broad steps, and, wrapping her shawl about her, listened to the wonderful chimes.

Still the snow fell heavily, covering her over with its cold white mantle, but she did not move. The voice of the chimes was whispering in her ear such beautiful things. It was delightful, and all the dread shadows that filled the night and storm faded away, for they were only born of earth.

Yes! it told her of a great Christmas tree up in Heaven the Golden. There was a pure white robe and shining wings, the priceless gift of the Father’s love. These were all marked with her name, and she was very happy.

She was no longer hungry nor cold, for the snow mantle was thick now over her little shrunken form. Only the tiny pale face looked out from the white covering, and that was leaning against the pillar of the great doorway. The old bonnet had fallen off; and she tried no longer to confine it. When the storm was over and the moon came out, it shone upon her golden brown hair, making it luminous with beauty.

How smoothly it sailed along, that crescent boat of the sky; and the deep blue eyes watching it saw such marvelous sights so pleasant, that a sweet peace gathered around the child. The poor little heart, that in the early hours of the blessed Christmas Eve beat with the quick flutter of fearful timidity and loneliness, was at rest in the holy calm.

Yes! there was the dear mother in the Golden Boat, so peaceful and free from care. How tenderly her dear eyes shone, and how beautiful she was in the radiant light of heaven! She beckoned with her hand, and the little child reached eagerly out to her, crying, “It is the mother! Oh, mother, dear, I am coming! Wait, mother! I am com—”

Up to the Crescent Boat on to Heaven the Golden, and to the throne of the loving God, had passed the spirit of the little child. Just then a bright star fell down from the fleecy clouds and rested upon the pure, ice-cold forehead, leaning so heavily against the great pillar of the stately doorway.

The cadence of the last chime was dying away upon the still night air. It was twelve o’clock, and the musician went home. The great belfry was left silent, and in the coming of the holy Christmas dawning all the peaceful town of Bruges slept.

In the morning the servant found a little child dead upon the door steps of the grand mansion, with the frost glittering like a crown of glory in her golden hair. It was said she was a poor lace-maker’s child, who had died in great poverty and want. The crowd gathered about the door, saying, “It is sad, oh! very sad!” but they knew nothing of what the music of the bells had been to her—nothing of the Golden Boat.

At last, when men came to take the poor little thing away to the paupers’ burying-ground, the good mother of the house said, “No, do not take her away, I entreat you.”

Then she folded the child in her arms, kissing her pale cheeks and golden hair, saying, “I will see to it. The good Lord led her to my door, and, though it is late, I will do all there is left me. She shall rest in the pleasant garden under the linden-trees.”

Dear little one! We can do nothing more now, but in Heaven the Golden the loving God will receive her, a most precious Christmas offering!

GOLDEN SNOW.

The snow-flakes were falling all over the northern Gold Land, for it was mid-winter. Against the ice-bound shore the angry breakers of the great Pacific dashed, and the wind whistled like a trumpeter.

A warm fire burned on the hearth of the fisherman’s hut, and with a red face the good-wife bent over it, preparing the supper. The old man stood by the window looking out, and thinking his poor thoughts of the wind and the tide, which ended always with the same refrain, “God help us fisher folk!” Suddenly he gave a quick start, exclaiming—“Hark! wife; what is that?”

The old woman dropped the wooden spoon, and listened to the clear voices that rose above the storm:—

“Golden Snow! Golden Snow!

To and fro;

Over her little heart

We blow,

Our dear little sister,

Golden Snow.

“Open your door,

That the fire-light’s glow

May tinge the cheek

Of Golden Snow—

Oh! dear little sister,

Golden Snow.”

Then came the savage old trumpeter, and blew a great blast close by the door and window of the little hut. It was really quite startling, and the old woman clung to her husband’s arm; but above all they could hear the shrill clear voices calling—

“Open the door,

For the wild winds blow

Over the heart

Of Golden Snow.”

“I can not do it,” said the good-wife, trembling; but the old man walked straight to the door. Though his wife entreated him, saying, “It is the Evil One who calls without, dear husband, do not open it,” he lifted the latch fearlessly. With a great bang in rushed the wind and blew out the candle.

“God save us!” cried the good-wife, crossing herself, almost ready to swoon with fright.

A bright glow from the fire fell upon a willow basket, covered with a fine crimson cloth. As the old man took it up, a little wailing cry rose, which touched the woman’s heart more than all her fears. Taking it from her husband, she exclaimed—

“God pity it! It is a little innocent child!”

The old man pressed hard upon the door, and drove out the ugly wind. Then he came to the fire, and saw his wife folding in her kind arms the most beautiful little child that even a poet could imagine. She was as white as a snow-flake, only the rose tinge upon her cheeks and her lips were like ripe cherries. Her hair was soft as silk, and lay in pretty waves of gold about her head, like the shining crown of a little princess.

The good people were greatly bewildered; but when they looked into the liquid blue eyes of the little one, it seemed like a deep fountain of happiness that was opened to them, and they were delighted beyond measure. As they had no children, this child seemed like a God’s gift, and they adopted her for their own.

Her little robes were of the finest material, daintily embroidered, but among them all there was nothing to tell her name or parentage, only a coral necklace with a golden clasp, engraved with the letters “G. S.”

“Was ever any thing so strange?” said the good-wife. “But she is our child now, and we will call her Golden Snow, for her hair is shining like gold, and her complexion fair as the driven snow.”

The poor fisher-folk had now something to love, and were never so happy in their lives.

The long winter gave place to the pleasant summer time, and the little child grew lovelier day by day, till in all the northern gold land there was not a maiden who could compare with her.

Good fortune had followed the fisherman. Ever since that stormy night he had never drawn in his net empty, and there had been always plenty in the larder. The old woman often said, “It all comes of Golden Snow—she is our luck child.”

As the years went by, she had taught the maiden all she knew herself, which was little enough, to be sure; but the child had other teachers. From the birds she received the gift of song, and learned the wonderful stories of the far southern lands.

The leaves of summer, and the evergreens of winter, whispered a thousand pleasant things in her ear, but it was the snow-flakes that she loved best of all. The old fisher-folk often heard them calling her as they flew about in the winter storm:—

“Golden Snow! Golden Snow!

You are one of us.

When the wild winds blow,

Come out to us

From the fire-light’s glow.

You are our sister,

Golden Snow.”

Then, before the good-wife could stop her, the little maiden would fly out into the storm, full of joy, dancing about as lightly as the snow-flakes themselves.

At first the old fisherman would run after her, and bring her in quickly, for fear that the chill of the storm would kill her; but when he saw that this only saddened her, and how rosy, laughing, and healthful she always was with the snow-flakes, he said to the good-wife—

“They do not harm her—let the child have her way.”

After this they would stand by the window watching her; and very often they heard her saying—

“My pretty sisters, how merry we are—how much I love you! The winter, oh! the winter, is the joy time, and my sisters the fairies of the winter.”

Then the snow-flakes would answer:—

“Golden Snow,

Many maids are fair,

We know,

But none like the princess

Golden Snow.”

So it happened that the old fisher-folk found out that Golden Snow was a princess, and they no longer wondered at the innate grace of the lovely child. Every thing she said, and all her ways, was so charming that it was impossible to resist her; but as she was so gentle and good, this was all well. Every night, before she went to sleep, she said reverently—“Our Father, who art in heaven.” The loving God heard her, and kept her heart pure, as she passed on through the portals of childhood into timid, dreamy maidenhood.

One day, in the winter time, when Golden Snow was about fifteen years old, a herald rode by the fisherman’s cottage, crying—“The prince! the prince will marry the most beautiful maiden in all the Gold Land. Hear! hear! the prince will marry the most-beautiful maiden in all the Gold Land!”

Then the old fisherman went out and asked the messenger what it meant.

“It means this,” replied the man, “that though the prince and all his ancestors were born in Russia, he has determined to marry only in the Gold Land, and the most beautiful maiden. For you must know, that though he is so high born in the old world, the estates are getting poor, but here he has won every thing. He has opened a mine so rich that he will never be able to count his money. He wishes his children to be real lords of the Gold Land—to be miner princes. So here he will marry even the poorest maiden, but she must be the most beautiful.”

Then he told how all the lovely young girls in the country were invited to a great feast at the castle, and that the prince would choose a wife from among them.

After this, the herald went crying before every house, no matter how humble, for this was the command of the prince.

The old fisherman went into the cottage, and told all to the good-wife.

“Golden Snow is the most beautiful maiden,” she answered.

“Yes,” said the old man, “Golden Snow is the most beautiful, but he who wins must seek her. She should not go to the castle for a husband, even though he were a king.”

This grieved the mother, for all her life she had eaten the bread of toil, and she longed to see the dainty fingers of her adopted child covered with rings, and to have her wear costly trailing robes, such as the wives and daughters of the great miner princes wore.

In the corner sat Golden Snow, braiding her silken hair, which was so long it swept the ground. She bound the broad plaits about her head, and formed a shiny-crown.

“Was there ever any thing like it?” said the old woman, sighing, and passing her brown hand fondly over the beautiful tresses.

“The father is right,” replied Golden Snow. “My sisters will see to it. Have never a care, mother;” and the maiden began singing the nightingale’s song, till the rafters of the old hut rang with the silvery melody.

“The chit of a child has never a care,” thought the old woman, “but it is different with me, who know what life is.”

All through the north land there was great excitement. Everywhere the young girls wrought upon gay dresses, and the fathers and mothers consulted together, that nothing might be wanting in the ball costumes of their daughters, for each one thought—“Our child is the most beautiful maiden.”

The morning dawned without a ray of sunshine. Only the heavy snow-clouds covered the sky.

“My sisters are getting ready for the ball to-night,” laughed Golden Snow. “Very soon the messengers will be flying out after the fleecy fringes and ribbons, for every one must be dressed in the real court costume.”

“Silly child, silly child,” answered the old woman; yet silently she thought—“If my daughter could go to the ball, the prince would surely fall in love with her, for in all the north land she is the only true princess.”

“See, they are coming, mother!” exclaimed Golden Snow, clapping her hands with delight.

The old woman looked out of the window, and saw everywhere the snow-flakes flying about, like little madcaps, over hill and valley.

It seemed a long day to her; there was a chill in the air, and she was not happy. Satos, the old fisherman, came in, saying, in his good-natured voice, “It will be stormy to-night, wife.”

“Ah, well,” replied she, “what will that matter to us, who stay at home?”

Just then a knock came at the door; and when the old man opened it, he saw a stately lady, who was so covered with snow that no part of her dress could be seen. It was like a cloak about her. Upon her head she wore a band of shining brilliants, that so dazzled the old man that he could not speak a word.

The lady stepped into the cottage, and when she saw Golden Snow, she embraced her fondly, saying, “My dear child, I have not forgotten that it is your birthday, and that you are now fifteen years old.” She took a little box from her pocket, and placed it upon the floor. In a few moments it had increased to so great a size that it was large enough to hold the entire wardrobe of a lady.

Golden Snow kissed her hand, and thanked her again and again.

“I must go now,” said the lady; “I can not endure the heat; but never fear, my child, for your sisters shall attend to every thing. Now, good-bye;” and again she embraced the young maiden tenderly, and in a moment was gone.

The fisherman and his wife had been standing gazing upon this scene in silent amazement; but when the lady had disappeared, and they could not see how, the old woman recovered her voice—

“Father,” she exclaimed, “the lady! she did not go out at the door, nor the window; how did she go?”

“Don’t ask me, wife—I don’t know any thing,” replied the old man in a bewildered way. “I believe—I rather think I am in the fog.” And after this he sank into a chair, and did not speak again for an hour. He was trying in vain to get out of the fog. A clear, ringing laugh startled the old man; it was Golden Snow, whose eyes were glistening with mirth.

“Who was she, child?” asked the good-wife.

“It was the Snow Queen, mother,” replied the young girl, as soon as she could speak for laughing. “But now let us look at my birthday gift.”

The good woman’s curiosity overcame her wonder; so, taking the silver key, she unlocked the great box, and displayed such a quantity of beautiful things, that her admiration was as great as her amazement.

There were shining robes of silver and gold cloth, and rich cloaks of fur, ornamented with glittering gems. Golden Snow was almost wild with delight, and her beaming eyes glistened with the unexpected pleasure. And the good-wife, though the mysticism troubled her greatly, could not but rejoice at the sight of all these treasures.

She took up a robe of silver cloth, richly embroidered with gold, saying, “Oh! my child, if you could only wear this to the ball, I should live to see you the bride of a real prince, and the richest man in all the Russian possessions, except the great czar himself.”

The old woman sighed heavily, adding, “It would not be right to say aught against the good-man, for there is nobody like him; but I do believe he would have his way if old Nickey Bend stood at the door with his cloven hoof, so it is no use talking—we must give up the ball, my child.”

“And I am content,” said Golden Snow, fastening a string of pearls into the shining crown that she had formed of her own abundant tresses. Then she threw about her a rich fur mantle, made of a thousand different skins of the finest quality.

“I must go now, and dance for a while with my sisters. Remember, mother,” she added, as the old woman shook her head, “it is my birthnight—you would not deny me.”

The old woman listened, and heard the clear voices calling:—

“’Tis thy birthnight, sister fair,

Join us fairies of the air.

Where the night-winds round us blow

We are waiting, Golden Snow.”

“Kiss me, mother, for I must go,” said the maiden, eagerly. And with the old woman’s kiss warm upon her cheek, she ran out and danced with the pretty snow-flakes till her face glowed and her eyes sparkled like the rich carbuncle that clasped her mantle.

“It is getting late; come in, child! come in!” called the old woman, who grew weary waiting.

The maiden kissed her white hands to the fleecy snow-flakes, singing like a bird—

“Good night!

Snow-flakes white.

Golden Snow

Now must go.

Sisters white,

Good night! Good night!”

There was a little sound, as though soft hands met and young lips kissed each other, and Golden Snow ran into the house, rosy, joyous, and ready to obey the good mother, even when she said, “Go to bed, my dear child,” though the bright eyes were still wide awake.

“You will tell me a story, mother,” said the young girl, in a coaxing tone.

So the old woman sat down by the bedside, and told her a wonderful story of the olden time, how a fair princess was changed into a blue bird by the incantations of a wicked old witch, who had red eyes, and had studied the black art. And how, after a long time, the cruel enchantment was broken by a brave young prince, who had marvelous adventures. “So it all ended happily,” said the old mother, bending over Golden Snow to kiss her. Then she saw that the young maiden slept, and she stood gazing upon her fresh young face, and thinking curious thoughts, which somehow were enwoven with the web of the story she had been telling, but all ended in this:—“Golden Snow is the most beautiful maiden.”

At the castle the musicians were playing, and the grand saloon was like an enchanted hall, with fragrant air and gorgeous light. The delicious music stole into the heart, and throbbed in the impassioned pulses of the guests, the noble gentlemen and fair ladies.

The dark-eyed brunette rivaled the delicate blonde, and all were lovely in their dainty robes, with the soft mellow light floating around them.

Amid the festive throng, with courtly hospitality, walked the young prince. The winds and sun had bronzed his handsome face, and the damp exhalations of the mine had moistened the rich curls of his dark hair. Yet nothing in all the rough miner’s life had harmed him in any way. He was a prince born, and a real prince at heart. There was not a father in the north land who would not have taken him by the hand, nor a mother who would not have been proud of him. Even the young maidens whispered together, “He is a man; one could look up to him, and that is the best of all.”

The prince was attentive to all his fair guests, but he danced more with the consul’s daughter. She was a proud young beauty, so ambitious, that she had treated with scorn many an honest heart in the Gold Land.

“My great-great-grandfather was younger brother to an earl, and I am beautiful enough to be the bride of a nobleman,” she would say, as she sat by her mirror. When the herald came with the invitation to the ball, she determined in her mind to marry the rich Russian prince.

“Of course,” she thought, “I am the most beautiful, so that is settled. I will go back to the old world, where I will astonish even the queen with the richness of my dress and the luster of my jewels, and every one will pay court to the princess of the Gold Land.”

So she went to the ball with glistening eyes and a proud flush upon her cheek, and all the guests whispered, “The consul’s daughter is the most beautiful maiden.” It found an echo in the heart of the prince, so that the matter seemed really decided.

Just then the music ceased, for the musicians were weary. The dancers were quite out of breath, and the windows of the grand saloon were opened to admit the refreshing air.

Without, the snow-flakes were holding their revel in honor of the princess Golden Snow. Up to the great carved windows they flew, and their clear voices sounded through the ball-room so distinctly, that the prince and all his guests heard them:

“The consul’s daughter is fair, we know,

But not like the beautiful Golden Snow.

There are lovely maids at the castle ball,

But Golden Snow is fairer than all.”

The flush of pride in the cheek of the consul’s daughter gave place to the deeper red of anger. Her eyes shot flames of fire, and her brow darkened with heavy clouds. “What does this insult mean?” she said sharply to the prince.

The young man gave a start, as though he were awaking from a dream. “It is strange,” he answered, “but it shall be looked to, lady. What it means I can not tell.”

He called his servants, telling them to bring in the people who were crying without. When the men returned, they were trembling, and seemed quite afraid.

“There are a hundred voices, but no person is without, only the snow-flakes flying about like living things.”

Then the prince went out himself, and a great search was made all over the grounds of the castle, but not a human being could be found. Still, everywhere the voices could be heard, and the snow-flakes thickened, till at last the search was given up.

“It is the work of magic and evil,” said the consul and all his friends; but the prince offered a great reward to any one who would find the beautiful Golden Snow, and all the guests were invited to return in one week’s time.

All the week the young prince could think of nothing but the mysterious voices that pursued him, and everywhere his messengers were seeking for the beautiful Golden Snow.

The consul’s daughter was nearly wild with rage and disappointment. One evening, in the dusky twilight, she went down into the shadows of a dark cañon, and consulted a wicked old witch, who lived in a dismal cavern.

“Am I not the fairest of all the maidens in the new world?” she asked, “but what means this cry of ‘Golden Snow?’”

“You are very fair,” answered the old witch, “but I must read the stars.” So she went down into the lowest depths of the cañon, and in the bottom of a deep well she read the stars:—

“There were maidens fair at the prince’s ball,

But Golden Snow is fairer than all.”

“What does it mean?” asked the consul’s daughter, pale and trembling with emotion.

“I will tell you! Golden Snow is the Elixir of Beauty, and if you can obtain it, and wash in it, you will become the most enchanting maiden in the world.”

“Where shall I find it? I will give you any thing—any thing for this Elixir of Beauty.”

Then the witch told her, if she would promise to be her slave one day in every month, she would help her to procure the great treasure.

“I can buy the old woman off when I become the bride of the rich prince,” thought the young girl. So she promised, and the witch brought out a wrinkled yellow parchment, and wrote the contract. Piercing the maiden’s arm, she dipped the pen in the blood, and the consul’s daughter signed it with a trembling hand.

“That is good,” said the old witch, her red eyes glaring at the maiden. “Now you must go to the summit of the black mountain, just over the prince’s mine, and bring me a quart of the snow that has drifted round the roots of the blasted pine. All your gold and jewelry you must bring, and, at twelve o’clock to-morrow night, come to the cavern, and I will give you the Elixir of Beauty, the wonderful golden snow.”

The consul’s daughter took off all her jewelry, necklace, bracelets, and all the gold she had she gave to the old witch. Then she toiled up the steep mountain, and at last, weary and worn, returned with the snow from the roots of the blasted pine.

When the young girl had left the cavern, the woman bent over the blazing fire, with alembic and crucible. “Who can tell the wonderful mystery,” she muttered to herself, as the liquid boiled up yellow as gold. “I myself will wash in it, and become young and fair again.”

The night came on in darkness, and at eleven o’clock the old witch carried the liquid out in the chill air, and with her red eyes, that could see best in the darkness, watched it as it changed in form, till, just as the bell in the church tower rung out twelve, she saw before her the Elixir of Beauty, the magic golden snow.

Just at that moment she heard the voice of the consul’s daughter calling, “It is so dark, I cannot see; give me your hand, and lead me to the Elixir of Beauty. I have dared so much for it! I am almost dead with fright.”

“In a moment,” answered the old woman, and she slipped the golden snow into a crevice in the rock, leaving only a little for the maiden. Reaching out her hand, she led the trembling girl into the cavern, and, taking an ivory box, filled it with pure white snow. Sprinkling over it the remnant of the Elixir of Beauty, she gave it to the maiden, saying, “Wash in it, and you will become as lovely as the dawn.”

When the young girl opened the box, it looked to her yellow and shiny, for the old witch had cast a glamour over it, so she went away quite satisfied.

She concealed her treasure in her private closet, and every night, after all in the house had retired, she washed her face, and, because there was the remnant of the Elixir of Beauty in it, she became fairer every day. All who saw her wondered, and said, “Surely the consul’s daughter is the most beautiful maiden!”

Through the whole week the herald of the prince rode over the Gold Land, everywhere seeking for Golden Snow. Once he passed the fisherman’s cottage, but that morning the fisher folk and their adopted child had gone down to the beach. As chance would have it, they missed the messenger.

Again the castle was illuminated, and the guests were assembled.

There were beautiful maidens, but the consul’s daughter shone like the morning. Again the heart of the prince re-echoed the wondering admiration of the guests, and his deep dark eyes flashed with a strange magnetic fire.

As the evening advanced, it grew warm, with the great lights flashing everywhere, and the delicious notes of the music vibrating and thrilling in every form.

“Do not open the windows,” entreated the consul’s daughter, “for the snow-flakes are drifting with the wind, and the night air is chill.” A shudder passed over her, so they opened only the doors of the grand saloon. But one of the warm and weary dancers went out secretly, and opened the carved oval window of the great hall. Then, louder than ever, the clear voices floated into the hall, and in all the winding corridors found a hundred echoes, till the whole castle reverberated with them:—

“The consul’s daughter is fair, we know,

But not like the princess Golden Snow.

There are lovely maids at the castle ball,

But Golden Snow is fairer than all.”

The consul’s daughter was again frantic with rage; her eyes glared with fury, and her face grew frightful with the heat of passion. The dream had passed forever from the heart of the prince, and he wondered that, only a moment before, he had thought the face, so contorted with anger, beautiful as a painter’s bright ideal.

Everywhere they searched, but could find no one, so, while the mystery deepened, the ball ended.

In the morning, the prince mounted a fine black horse, and started off as for a long journey. For months he wandered over the northern Gold Land, seeking everywhere the princess Golden Snow.

At last, when he had given up all hope, and was returning disappointed to the castle, he chanced to ride by the fisherman’s cottage. The old fisher folk sat in the corner mending a net, and Golden Snow, in her rich, marvelous voice, was singing to them one of the songs of the sea. The prince stopped his horse and listened, drinking in every note of the delicious melody. When it was ended, he dismounted, and, leading his horse by the bridle, knocked at the door, and the good-wife opened it.

“Tell me, good mother, who it was singing, for, in all my life, never a voice came so into my heart.”

“It was the princess Golden Snow,” answered the old woman, proudly.

The prince entered, and saw Golden Snow in all her matchless grace and beauty. Around her head was her crown of shining hair, decked with brilliants, and a mantle of the richest fur covered her. She had only just returned from the sea-shore, with the rich flush of exercise upon her cheek, and her eyes were beaming with the rare beauty of her gentle spirit.

The fisherman rose to meet the young prince, who told him, in his handsome, manly way, how all over the north land he had been seeking for the princess Golden Snow; and how at last, when hope was almost dying, he had found the treasure.

The old man listened gravely; then he placed the white hand of the maiden in the young man’s strong, true palm, saying, “Not because you are a Russian prince, but because you are one of God’s noblemen, I give you my dear child. Take her, for in her loving heart she is the most beautiful maiden.”

Thus the young people were betrothed in the cottage of the good fisher folk, and, when the news spread over the country, there was great rejoicing. They were married at the old church, where the stones are covered with lichens, and many a poor man’s heart was made glad by the generosity of the prince that day.

The consul’s daughter was too angry to join in the festivities, but all the former guests of the castle were there, and among them sat the fisher folk in the place of honor.

All over the northern Gold Land flew the joyous snow-flakes, dancing at the wedding of their princess.

Everywhere in the grand saloon, and through the winding corridors of the castle, with strains of rich music mingled the clear mysterious voices:—

“All the north land now shall know,

The most beautiful maiden is Golden Snow.

We are her sisters, snow-flakes white,

She is the princess of golden light.”

Thus all were happy, save the consul’s daughter, whose pride and rage devoured her. For one day every month she was doomed to be the slave of the wicked old witch, which was wretchedness. At last, one night, when her tasks had been too hard for endurance, from her great weariness and sickness of heart, she cried out, “O Lord Christ, forgive and pity me!”

Then the old witch gave a wild shriek of madness, and disappeared in the black shadows of the cañon forever.

Because she had hidden part of the golden snow, by this prayer the maiden was delivered out of her hands.

The selfish pride of the consul’s daughter was humbled, and she grew so gentle and good, that all, even the poor and dependent, learned to love her, so that she, too, became, in heart, a beautiful maiden.

GRACIA AND CATRINA.

Near the Mission of San Diego lived a very wealthy Spaniard and his wife, the most beautiful señora in all the country for many miles around.

They had every thing about them to make life pleasant: a fine orange and lemon grove; a large garden, containing olive, almond, peach, and pear trees; indeed, all kinds of fruit and flowers, that the luxurious climate of San Diego produces.

Their house was pleasant, and furnished with all the comforts and many of the luxuries of life; and when God blessed them with a little daughter, they felt as though there was nothing left to wish for. The child resembled her beautiful mamma in features as much as the tiny bud is like the full-blown rose.

The hidalgo had never ceased to regard his wife with that kind of worshipful love so dear to woman’s heart; and his great delight was to watch tenderly over mother and child, that even the slightest wish might not pass ungratified.

As it grew older, the little one learned to recognize the glance of love; and when at last it would open its large dark eyes and look eagerly at the dear papa, and, holding out its tiny hands, crow with all the innocent delight of infancy, he would take the babe in his arms, and all the harsh lines about his mouth softened into smiles. He was happier than any one in the whole country, except the delighted mother, who was never weary of looking upon the darling of her heart.

Gracia and Catrina.

The señora was a devout Catholic, and, though she seldom left the child alone with her nurse, as the feast of Corpus Christi approached, she felt that this year, above all others so blessed to her in the birth of her beloved child, she should assist in the celebration. On the morning of the holy day, she gave her treasure, with many charges, into the care of the old servant, bidding her on no account whatever to leave the child, even for a moment. Twice, as she was about leaving, she returned to embrace the little one, with her soft eyes filled with tears. As she covered the face of her babe with kisses, she whispered, “Mamma loves thee. Mijita mia. Foolish mamma trembles to leave thee, yet the divine eye of the Holy Mother will watch over thee. Mia vida, mia vida!” Then came the sound of music, and the voice of the hidalgo calling her; so with a last embrace, with mingled smiles and tears, the young mother parted from her little one, for the first time since its birth.

There was to be a large procession formed upon the plaza, where rustic booths were built, and ornamented according to the taste and wealth of the devout, who often sacrificed the comfort of weeks, to be able to give this tribute of honor to the Holy Mother and the Blessed Christ.

Pictures of the Madonna were placed upon the rude altars, entwined with beautiful wreaths, while rare flowers shed their rich incense from costly vases. The señora had spared neither money nor pains.

“It is in honor of the Merciful Christ—the Redeemer of the world,” she said; “let every thing be as worthy of His greatness as possible; it will fall far short of what my thankful heart would offer.”