Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 7, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 March 1884 — A TRUE FAIRY STORY. [ARTICLE]

A TRUE FAIRY STORY.

In * large and beautiful castle lived three sisters. The two oldest were handsome and proud, and their names were Mary Maud and Maud Marian. The youngest was neither handsome nor proud, and her name was Triste. Triste, as you know, means sad or afflicted, and this Triste was named for her condition. She bad once had a prettier name —Rosabel, In fact,—but everybody now called her Triste the Bad. She stayed in a small room, wiftout windows, at the very top of the castle, as far away as she could possibly get from the Binging and laughing, and music and all the good times that were continually goirfr on in the gardens and rooms below, where her sisters lived. Here in this little dark room, when it was morning, poor Triste would always say, “Would God It were evening!" and when it was evening she would always say, “Would God it were morning!” and these two remarks were all the remarks she ever made. Once an»Evil Eye had looked hard upon Triste and made her ugly and deformed. She had bunches and swellings, she was limpy and trembling, and her sac—well, if you looked at it once you did not care to look •gain. As for the aches and pains that darted and criscrossed and zigzaged through her, one would not suppose that a little thin body like hers could make room for so many. So Triste stayed in her dark room, and made hermorning and her evening remark day after day, while Mary Maud and Maud Marian went to the balls and the tournaments and the feasts. Whenever the sounds of mirth and music from below where loud enough to reach Triste's room at the top of the castle, she would throw her face into her hands and weep, and the weeping and the making her two remarks were all the amusements she had. But after a while something wonderful happened. One morning as Triste was sitting in her room wishing it was evening, she heard a new Bound. It was not the mirth and music, it was not the clumsy-footed servant bringing up the dreadful gruels, it was something coming up the winding-stairs with a raptapping noise. The taps came on, and Anally Triste’s door opened and a little, old, bentover woman with a walking-stick came Ip. The little old woman’s face was white and wrinkled, her hair was white as snow, but eyes were black and so very bright that they lit up a space around her like a couple of candles and made Triste’s dark room quite light. The little old woman tapped three times bn the Door with her walking stick and looked round the room. “I am your godmother,” she said, when she saw Triste up in the corner; “you don't remember me, but I remember you; I didn't forget you, my poor child.’’ “Oh, would God it were evening!” said Triste, trying to be sociable, and meaning, perhaps, “Good-morning,” or “How do you do?” or something like that. “Hark ye, goddaughter,” said the godmother, “do you want to go to the tournament with your sisters? Do you want to sit down at the feasts? Do you want to have the brave young knights and princes, their snow-white plumes and their coal-black chargers, come riding to woo you as they come to woo your sisters? Do you want to sing? Do you want to laugh? Do you want to dance?” Thou Triste put her head into her hands and began to cry by way of varying the sociability.

“ Stop your crying, goddaughter,” said the godmother, tapping her three taps on the floor again, and as Triste raised her head she shone upon her with her beautiful eyes and dried up the tears, and while her eyes were shining she went on talking: “I was your godmother when you were christened Rosabel. When the Evil Eye struck you and cursed you, and you were turned into Triste the Sad, I did not desert you like the others. I have been wandering over the world ever since to find the Fairy that could take off the carse of that Evil Fye. I have wandered, wandered—oh, how I have wandered! I was handsome, and straight as a poplar I am old and crooked, but Ido not care.-5 have found the Fairy. It ran from me, it flew, it hid, it went up and down, it was never there when I put my hand on it, —but I got it at last.” And the godmother tapped her three taps, and laughed three merry laughs, that ran round the wrinkles in her face like streaks es quicksilver. “ I found it, I put it into a bottle and corked it down tight; I have brought it to you." The godmother drew from under the traveltattered cloak a bottle, in which was a white Fairy, dimpling and sparkling, and making f jpny little fairy bows and gestures. The godmother laughed her three merry, quicksilvery laughs again as she held it up and looked at it. “It is meek and quiet enough now,” she said. “When a Fairy is once caught it gives up. It will perform its mission. Do as it bids you and it will take off the curse of that Evil Eye." The godmother pressed the Fairy into Triste’s hand, and before Triste had got over being perfectly dazed at the gift, the godmother was tapping down the winding-stair with her walking-stick, and Triste was left alone with the bottled Fairy. How • long it took her to get over being dazed; how soon she released the Fairy from the bottle; what it said and what it did, first, second, and last, we can all put into fairy history for ourselves. However and whatever the ways and means, it is certain that those frolicsome aches and pains, which had made of Triste their exercise grounds and camping places, were routed out, hip and thigh, little and big. She stopped making, her two remarks and learned some new ones. And she began to tire of her room without windows; and she got so crave and strong that she would sometimes av night, when the garden was still and dark, wrap herself all round and steal down the winding stair, tc walk under the trees, and to look at the stars and the moon.

From looking at the stars and tbo moon she wanted to look at the sun. And one glad day, right in the very brightest sunshine, Triste walked boldly into the garden. The birds were singing, the flowers were blooming. the lakes, the trees, the fountains—everything was glorious and wonderful. She walked on with estrange brightness and easiness, and so happy she did not know whether it was the birds she heard singing, or some kind of music within hcrs?l r . She stopi>ed beside a fountn'’’. ’“d ms she in. the silver water smiled bark to her with a fresh, happy face—such a fresh, happy face, so free from those old deformities and marks of the Evil Fye, that Triste cried out lor joy; and yet such a wonderful chanao it was, she did not half believe it was her own reflection she saw in the water. She did not half believe it until the old godmother came from behind some shrubbery. laughing her quicksilvery laughs fast and loud, and saying, “Ho! ho! ho! Rosabrl! Rosabel!” whenever the got a chance between the laughs. And Mary Maud and Maud Marian, who happened to be walking in the garden, heard the laughing and came to the fountain, and when thev saw and understood they pressed Triste in their arms, crying for joy over her, and calling her their beautiful Rosa. And so it was ever afterwards, Mary Maud, Maud Marian, and Rosabel were the throe sisters that lived in the castle. Triste the Sod was never more hoard from. The little room at the top of the castle was locked up, and the key lost for? or. When Rcsabel went upto take a last look at her old room she found that the dear little Fahy had departed, but on the deserted bottle had left its name,—Dr. R. V. Perce's Golden Medical Discovery. The above is perfectly true in all but the thin varnish of its setting forth, and, indeed, the^ u l h 1? U has «?nsldpraW»- crackled and rubbed off even that thin ooatiug. Do we not all know sad afflicted ories, to whom If Dois a curse on account of painful and deforming d's ?a c ef Restless, discouraged souls, who say In the morning, “Would God it were evening;” and in the evening, “Would God it were morning;" dragging out their weary days with no expectation of anything better this side of the grave. If Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery will do what it claims to do it. is surely a golden gift to humanity; that it will do exactly what it claims hardly admits of a doubt, if we take into consldeiatlon the responsibility and position of its voucher, and the thousands of most trustworthy witnesses to its wonderful power in their individual cases. Dr. Pieroe is well known to the general public, not only for his Golden Discovery, but

also in connection with the World’s Dispensary and Invalids’ Hotel at Buffalo, Ji. Y.; as author of The People’s Common Sense Medical Adviser, and other medical worts of great practical value; and as originator and proprietor of several specific remedies, one of which, the alterative ‘‘Pierce’s Pleasant Purgative Pellet*,'* and his great “Golden Medical Discovery*' work together as allies in the cure of certain diseases. He is a physician of large practice and experience, who, tn a rational and scientific way, has made a life study of disease, its causes and cures, under the most favorable circumstances for such study; and the “Discovery” is the result of much observation, experiment and research. He does not claim that It will cure everything, or that there are not individual cases beyond its reach; but he does claim that it is a powerful remedy for chronic diseases of the Ever. blood and lungs, and that from these as root diseases spring many of the most dangerous and painful maladies of humanity. The list of diseases for which he recommends the “Discovery” is necessarily large, since it must take in all the shoots and branches that spring from these root diseases, each shoot and branch having its particular name and manifestation, and its particular degree of pain and danger to the human system. It takes In thus our consumptions, our kidney diseases, our sickheadaches, our heart diseases, the whole long, loathsome list of what are called “bad blood” diseases, our dyspepsias, dropsies, agues, asthmas, and many others, by far too numerous to mention. The Discovery has been tried and proved, and is now solidly established upon its own merits. Scarcely a town or village from which some testimonial of its use and value has not been received. Many of those testifying say that after having spent hundreds of dollars upon medicines and physiclans,and their cases having been pronounced hopeless, the Golden Medical Discovery has raised them to health and strength. It unquestionably has grappled with thousands of “hard cases" in the form of disease, and come off victor, and Dr. Pierce has the spoils of conquest in the way of increased reputation and the thanks and blessing of cured and rejoicing humanity. Dear, hesitating, sick reader, you are suffering the same kind of ills from which thousands of others have been relieved by the Golden Medical Discovery, perhaps it will not cure you. You may be differently constituted from other people; your system may be constructed on a new and original plan, and work on peculiar methods and principles. But, after all, it is quite probable that you are made a good deal like other folks, and that what will cure others will, under about the same conditions, cure you. If you use the Golden Medical Discovery your name will soon go down on the long list of the cured and rejoicing. The Buddhists have a pretty fable of a tree, called the red tree of Koumboum. each leaf of which bears in relief a letter, all the letters spelling out a poem to Buddha, and this vegetable poem being beautifully varied year after year as the tree renewed its foliage. If the vegetable life, whatever it may bo, from which Dr. Pierce gets the wonderful remedial agents of his Golden Medical Discovery, were thus to spell out the rejoicing of those it had blessed, we should have a jioem to match that of the red tree of Koumboum, like it varying itself season by season as now cases and causes of rejoicing were given. Judge Ritchie, of Maryland, has fourteen handsome daughters. Of course they are all angels, for “Ritchies have wings.”—Taras Siftings.