by Mary Howitt.
Originally published in Howitt's Journal (William Lovett) vol.2 #32 (07 Aug 1847).
It was a June morning; roses and yellow jasmine covered the old wall in the poet's garden, the little brown mason bees flew in and out of their holds beneath the pink and white and yellow flowers; peacock butterflies, with large blue eyes on their crimson velvet wings, fluttered about and settled on the orange-brown wall-flowers. Aloft in the broad-leaved sycamore tree, the blackbird was singing as if he was out of his senses for joy; he sang as loud as any nightingale, and his heart was glad because his young brood were hatched, and he knew that they now sate with their little yellow beaks poking out of the nest and thinking what a famous bird their father was. All the robins, and tomtits, and linnets, and redstarts, that sate in the trees of the garden shouted vivas, and bravuras, and encored him delightully.
The poet himself, to whom the garden belonged, sate under the double-flowering hawthorn, which was all in blossom—he sate on a green chair, and his best friend sate beside him. Beneath the lower branches of the tree was hung the canary-bird's cage; the children had brought it out because the morning was so fine, and the little canary loved fresh air and the smell of flowers. It never troubled him that other birds flew about from one end of the garden to the other, or sate and sung on the waving and leafy branches; he loved his cage, and while the old blackbird poured forth his grand melodies, the little canary sat like a prince in a stage-box and nodded his head and sang an accompaniment.
One of the poet's children, the little daughter, sate in her own little garden; the garden was full of flowers, and bees and butterflies flitted about in the sunshine. The child, however, was not noticing them; she was thinking only of one thing, and that was the great daisy-root which was all in flower; it was the largest daisy-root in the whole garden, and two and fifty double pink and white daisies. were crowded upon it. They were, however, no longer daisies to the child's eyes, but two-and-fifty little charity children in green stuff gowns and white tippets and white linen caps, that had had a holiday given them; she saw them all with pink cheeks and bright eyes, running in a group and talking as they went; the hum of the bees around seemed the sound of their voices. The child was happy to think that two-and-fifty charity children were let loose from school to run about in the sunshine; her heart went with them, and she was so full of joy that she started up and ran to tell her father, who was sitting with his best friend under the hawthorn tree. Sad and bitter thoughts, however, oppressed the poet's heart; he had been disappointed where he had hoped for good; his soul was under a cloud, and as the child ran up to tell him about the little charity children, in whose joy she thought he would sympathize, she heard him say to his friend:—
"No, I have no hope of human nature now; it is a poor, miserable thing that is not worth working for. My best endeavours have been spent in its service; my youth and my manhood's strength—my very life—and this is my reward! I will no longer strive to do good. I will write for money's sake as others do—and not for the good of mankind!"
The poet's words were bitter, and tears came in the eyes of his best friend. Never had the child heard such words from her father before; he had been to her hitherto as a great and good angel.
"I will write," said he, "for money's sake, as others do, and not for the good of mankind!"
"My father, if you do," said the child, in a voice of mournful indignation, "I will no longer read what you write; I will trample all your writings under my feet!"
Large tears rolled down her cheeks, and her eyes were fixed on her father's face.
The poet took the child in his arms, and kissed her; an angel had touched his heart, and he could forgive his bitterest enemies.
"I will tell you something, my child," said he, in his usually mild voice. The child leaned her head against his breast, and listened. "Once upon a time a man lived in a great wide wilderness; he was a poor man, and worked very hard for his bread; he lived in a cave of a rock, and because the sun shone burning hot into the cave he twined roses, and jasmines, and honey-suckles all around it: and in front of it, and in the ledges of the rock, he planted flowers and sweet shrubs, and made it very pleasant. Water ran gurgling from a fissure in the rock into a little basin, whence it poured in gentle streams through his garden, in which grew all kinds of delicious fruits. Birds sang in the tall trees which nature herself had planted, and little squirrels, and lovely green lizards, with bright, Intelligent eyes, lived in the branches and among the flowers. All would have gone well with the man, had not evil spirits taken possession of his cave; they troubled him night and day; they dropped canker blight upon his roses, nipped off his jasmine and honeysuckle flowers, and in the form of caterpillar and blight, ate his beautiful fruits. It made the man angry and bitter; the flowers were no longer beautiful to him, and when he looked at them he thought only of the canker and the caterpillar; 'I can no longer take pleasure in them,' said he, 'I will leave the cave, and go elsewhere.' He did so; and he travelled on and on; but it was a vast wilderness in which he was, and so it was many and many a day before he came to a place of rest, nor did he know that all this time the evil spirits who had plagued him so in his own cave, were still going with him; but they were; and they made every place he came to seem worse than the last; their very breath cast a blight upon everything. He was foot-sore and weary, and very miserable. A feeling like despair was in his heart, and he said he might as well die as live; he lay down in the wilderness, and scarcely had he done that, when he heard behind him the pleasantest sound in the world; a little child singing like a bird because her heart was innocent and full of joy; the next moment she was at his side. The evil spirits that were about him, when they saw her coming, drew back a little, for she brought with her a beautiful company of angels and bright spirits, little cherubs, with round, rosy cheeks, golden hair and laughing eyes, stuck between two dove's wings as white as snow. The child had not the least idea that these beautiful spirits always were about her; all she knew was, that she was full of joy, and that she loved above all things to do good. When she saw the poor man lying there, she went up to him, and talked so pityingly and yet so cheerfully to him, that he felt as if her words would cure him. She told him that she lived just by, and that he should go with her and rest, and get well in her cave. He went with her, and it was just such a cave as his own, only much smaller. Roses and honeysuckles and jasmines grew all round it; and birds were singing, and gold and silver fish were sporting about in the water; and there were such beds of strawberries all red and luscious that filled the air with odour. It was a beautiful place; there seemed to be no canker nor blight on anything; and yet the man saw how spiders had woven webs like the most beautiful lace from one vine branch to another; and butterflies that had once been devouring caterpillars were flitting about; and just as in his own garden, fat yellow frogs were squatted under the cool strawberry leaves; but the child loved the frogs as well as the green lizards, and said that they did her no harm, and that there were plenty of strawberries both for them and for her.
"The evil spirits that had troubled the man, and followed him, could not get into the child's garden; it was impossible, because all those rosy-cheeked cherubs and white angels lived there; and that which is good, be it ever so small, is a great deal stronger than that which is evil, be it ever so large. So they sate outside and bit their nails for vexation; and as the man stayed a long time with the child they got so tired of waiting, that some of them flew away for ever. At length the man kissed the child, and went back to his own place. When he got there he found that owing to the evil spirits having been so long away, the flowers and the fruits had in great measure recovered themselves; there was hardly any canker or blight left, and as the child came now very often to see him, and brought with her all her bright company, the place was freed, at least while she stayed, from the evil ones. That is a true story. There are many men, who, like him, live in a wilderness, and it is happy for them when they have a child for their neighbour."
The poet was silent; the child kissed him, and then, without saying a word about the little charity children, ran off to sit down beside them, and perhaps to tell them the story which her father had just told her.