d
into a mere coquette; and even her lovers felt that the charms and
fascinations which were exercised upon all who approached her without
distinction were valueless, so that in the end they ceased to care for
them, and went away disdainfully.'
'I am pleased with you, child,' said the Fairy; 'enjoy yourself here for
awhile and presently you shall go to Phyllida.'
Sylvia was glad to have leisure to think, for she could not make up her
mind at all what she should ask for herself, and the time was drawing
very near. However, before very long the Fairy sent her to Phyllida, and
waited for her report with unabated interest.
'I reached her court safely,' said Sylvia, 'and she received me with
much kindness, and immediately began to exercise upon me that brilliant
wit which you had bestowed upon her. I confess that I was fascinated
by it, and for a week thought that nothing could be more desirable; the
time passed like magic, so great was the charm of her society. But I
ended by ceasing to covet that gift more than any of the others I
have seen, for, like the gift of pleasing, it cannot really give
satisfaction. By degrees I wearied of what had so delighted me at first,
especially as I perceived more and more plainly that it is impossible
to be constantly smart and amusing without being frequently ill-natured,
and too apt to turn all things, even the most serious, into mere
occasions for a brilliant jest.'
The Fairy in her heart agreed with Sylvia's conclusions, and felt
pleased with herself for having brought her up so well.
But now the time was come for Sylvia to receive her gift, and all her
companions were assembled; the Fairy stood in the midst and in the usual
manner asked what she would take with her into the great world.
Sylvia paused for a moment, and then answered: 'A quiet spirit.' And the
Fairy granted her request.
This lovely gift makes life a constant happiness to its possessor, and
to all who are brought into contact with her. She has all the beauty of
gentleness and contentment in her sweet face; and if at times it seems
less lovely through some chance grief or disquietude, the hardest thing
that one ever hears said is:
'Sylvia's dear face is pale to-day. It grieves one to see her so.'
And when, on the contrary, she is gay and joyful, the sunshine of her
presence rejoices all who have the happiness of being near her.
By the Comte de Caylus.
PRINCE NARCISSUS AND THE PRINCESS POTEN
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