om was situated in the Island of
Roses, where the climate is so delicious that the grass is always
green and the flowers always sweet. The waves, instead of beating on
the rocks, seemed to die gently on the shore; clusters of golden
bushes covered the land, and the vines were bent low with grapes.

The King of this island had a daughter named Rosalie, who was more
lovely than any girl in the whole world. No sooner had the eyes of the
Prince of the Air rested on her than he forgot all the terrible woes
which had been prophesied to him ever since he was born, for in one
single moment the plans of years are often upset. He instantly began
to think how best to make himself happy, and the shortest way that
occurred to him was to have Rosalie carried off by his attendant
spirits.

It is easy to imagine the feelings of the King when he found that his
daughter had vanished. He wept her loss night and day, and his only
comfort was to talk over it with a young and unknown prince, who had
just arrived at the Court. Alas! he did not know what a deep interest
the stranger had in Rosalie, for he too had seen her, and had fallen a
victim to her charms.

One day the King, more sorrowful than usual, was walking sadly along
the seashore, when after a long silence the unknown Prince, who was
his only companion, suddenly spoke. 'There is no evil without a
remedy,' he said to the unhappy father; 'and if you will promise me
your daughter in marriage, I will undertake to bring her back to you.'

'You are trying to soothe me by vain promises,' answered the King.
'Did I not see her caught up into the air, in spite of cries which
would have softened the heart of any one but the barbarian who has
robbed me of her? The unfortunate girl is pining away in some unknown
land, where perhaps no foot of man has ever trod, and I shall see her
no more. But go, generous stranger; bring back Rosalie if you can, and
live happy with her ever after in this country, of which I now declare
you heir.'

Although the stranger's name and rank were unknown to Rosalie's
father, he was really the son of the King of the Golden Isle, which
had for capital a city that extended from one sea to another. The
walls, washed by the quiet waters, were covered with gold, which made
one think of the yellow sands. Above them was a rampart of orange and
lemon trees, and all the streets were paved with gold.

The King of this beautiful island had one son, for whom a life of
ad