Fairy Tales Utilised For The New Generation.

eagerness did we then open out each fairy tale ; Avith what confiding minds did we peruse the old-fashioned legends of the mystical and marvellous ; and with what intensity of rejoicing in our warm , young , and ardent feelings did AVC hail tbe triumph of the good fairy just at the right timej ust

, at tbe proper moment I We still can recall the trusting vronder of an olden clay , amid the doubts and drawbacks , the dustand dirt , the coldness and callousness , of later and Aviser years ! Alas ! for many of us it would have been better never to have lost

the simple belief of childhood ; and therefore for us , " babies " still if of a "larger growth , " I cannot help opining that the same " pabulum mentis " may be as appropriate and digestible—nay , I venture to think , even more appropriate and more

digestible—than most of that baneful and sensational literature which lies so temptingly before us all , and . appeals so vividly to excited sensibilities to-day . Yet , as Colonel Everard says of the dissipation of life , in " Woodstock , " how it all does pall upon tbe palate—how bitter it all is to the after-taste !

So I commence my self-imposed task today with the good old fairy creation of Cinderella , the same Cinderella whose fairy slipper Ave once believed in , whose frail carriage and whose mousy steeds Ave were so Avell acquainted Avith , Avhose trialsAve

grieved over , whose triumph Ave rejoiced at . IVliy , once upon a time , we full y believed in that neat fanciful of graceful creations of Wonder-land , in that good old long ago , whose like we shall never see again . Alas ! since that time of fresh faith and living

trust , and ingenuous fervour , ancl loving hope , this world of ours , cold and cynical , has deadened all emotion in us , has blighted one b y one , may be , the opening buds and the fragrant flowers . Expectation is not reality , fruition is

not anticipation . The difference between things as they seem , and things as they are , is very great indeed ; and here Ave are to-day even arrived at such a hardihood of incredulity that we profess to disbelieve in fairiesand scientificallto account for

, y fairy rings ! For as the old refrain of our childhood , sung of old b y dear , dear voices , floats away iu a misty atmosphere of sighs and memories and tears , we all are almost compelled to chant once more : —

Oh , where do fairies lay their heads , AVhen the snow lies on the hills , When the frost has spoilt their mossy beds And crystallised the rills ? Beneath the moon they cannot trip

In circles o ' er the plain , And draughts of dew they cannot sip , Till the green leaves come again . AVhen they return there shall be mirth And music in the air , And fairy rings upon the earth ,

Ancl mischief everywhere ; Ancl maids to keep the elves aloof Shall bar their doors in vain ; No keyhole shall be fairy proof , AVhen the green leaves come again . Mighty are the changes of time and

scene ! We begin life believing ancl confiding ; we move on a few steps , and then the " falsehoods of the Avorld curl" around us , our lips , our hearts , our lives , and we find as we groAV older , how chvarfed and stunted are those pleasant plants Avhich

imagination once sought to rear ancl tender sympathy endeavoured to develope . What a strange poAver has the Avorld , and IIOAV often docs it tinge Avith its darker colours the roseate hues of a promising dawn ; how often does it transmute with its baser alloy the true , good coin of sincerity , sentiment , honour , and trust . As Praed said so well of old : —

But out on tbe Avorld , from the flowers It shuts out the sunshine of truth , It blights the green leaves in the bowers , It makes an old age of our youth ; And the AOAV of ill-feeling once in it , Like a streamlet beginning to freeze ,

Though it cannot turn ice in a minute , Grows harder by sudden degrees . Time treads o ' er the graves of affection ; SAveet honey is turned into gall I Perhaps you have no recollection That ever you danced at our ball .

But , bless my soul , I ' m getting quite pathetic , Avhich is always a mistake , as most people ' s feelings , like the hard-hearted millionaire ' s , are at "their bankers , " and so " ballons partons , " as John Bull said when he lauded at Calais , ancl thought it

so strange that everybody did not speak English , and he would therefore try and speak their " lingo . " Cinderella , or " Cindewella , " as our classical youth often call