you take that celestial 'Joe Miller'
of yours and work it off on somebody else. I have read my fairy lore,
and I have read my mythology, and I don't want any of your blessings.
And what's more, I'm not going to have them. When I want blessings I
will put up with the usual sort we are accustomed to down here. You know
the ones I mean, the disguised brand--the blessings that no human being
would think were blessings, if he were not told; the blessings that
don't look like blessings, that don't feel like blessings; that, as a
matter of fact, are not blessings, practically speaking; the blessings
that other people think are blessings for us and that we don't. They've
got their drawbacks, but they are better than yours, at any rate, and
they are sooner over. I don't want your blessings at any price. If you
leave one here I shall simply throw it out after you."

I feel confident I should have answered in that strain, and I feel it
would have done good. Somebody ought to have spoken plainly, because
with fairies and angels of that sort fooling about, no one was ever safe
for a moment. Children could hardly have been allowed outside the door.
One never could have told what silly trick some would-be funny fairy
might be waiting to play off on them. The poor child would not know, and
would think it was getting something worth having. The wonder to me is
that some of those angels didn't get tarred and feathered.

I am doubtful whether even Cinderella's luck was quite as satisfying
as we are led to believe. After the carpetless kitchen and the black
beetles, how beautiful the palace must have seemed--for the first year,
perhaps for the first two. And the Prince! how loving, how gallant, how
tender--for the first year, perhaps for the first two. And after? You
see he was a Prince, brought up in a Court, the atmosphere of which is
not conducive to the development of the domestic virtues; and she--was
Cinderella. And then the marriage altogether was rather a hurried
affair. Oh yes, she is a good, loving little woman; but perhaps our
Royal Highness-ship did act too much on the impulse of the moment. It
was her dear, dainty feet that danced their way into our heart. How they
flashed and twinkled, eased in those fairy slippers. How like a lily
among tulips she moved that night amid the over-gorgeous Court dames.
She was so sweet, so fresh, so different to all the others whom we knew
so well. How happy she looked as she put her trembling