es of
the garden and of a beautiful fairy who dwelt in it, and whose soft,
melodious voice was sometimes heard in the stillness of the night
singing sweet, transporting songs. No one had seen her, this fairy, but
she was certainly beautiful, and of course young; there were also some
bold individuals who asserted that when the moon shone brightly and
goldenly, the young fairy was then to be seen in the tops of the
trees or upon the edge of the wall. Light as an elf, transparent as a
moonbeam, she there swung to and fro, executing the singular dances
and singing songs that brought tears to the eyes and compassion to the
hearts of those who heard them. On hearing these tales, the Romans would
make the sign of the cross, and pass more quickly by the walls of this
garden, which thenceforth they called "_The Charmed Garden_." It was
indeed a charmed garden! It was an island of happiness, behind these
walls, concealed from the knavery of the world. Like an eternal smile of
the Divinity rested the heavens over this ever-blooming, ever-fragrant
garden, in whose myrtle-bushes the nightingales sang, and in whose
silver-clear basins the goldfishes splashed.

Yes, it was indeed a charmed garden, and also had its fairy, who, if she
did not compete with the moonbeams in rocking herself on the tops of the
trees and the edges of the wall, was nevertheless as delicate as an elf,
and who tripped from flower to brook and from brook to hill as lightly
and gracefully as the gazelle. The whole spring, the whole youth of
nature, flashed and beamed from this beautiful maiden-face, so full of
childlike innocence, purity, and peace. No storm had as yet passed over
these smiling features, not the smallest leaf of this rose had been
touched by an ungentle hand; freely and freshly had she blossomed in
luxuriant natural beauty; she had drunk the dews of heaven, but not
the dew of tears, for those deeply-dark beaming eyes had wept only such
tears as where called forth by emotions of joy and happiness.

She sat under a myrtle, whose blossoming branches bent down to her as if
they would entwine that pure and tender brow with a bridal wreath. With
her head thrown back upon these branches, she reposed with an inimitable
grace her reclining form. A white transparent robe, held by a golden
clasp, fell in waves to her feet, which were encased in gold-embroidered
slippers of dark-red leather. A blushing rose was fastened by a diamond
pin in the folds of her