In a magical forest where trees shimmered with an ethereal glow, there lived a small community of delightful elves, each with their special powers. Among them was Glimmer, a particularly lively elf, whose magical touch made things shine like stars. She loved to prance about her cozy little home, gathering sparkling dust from mushrooms and swirling it through the air—creating the most dazzling effects.
One morning, feeling especially merry, she invited her friends, Jingle and Twinkle, to visit her in the soft, glowing glade that surrounded her home.
“Come and see what glories my power can create!” she cried, her spirits bubbling over like foam on ale.
When they arrived, she began tossing golden glitter here and there—on the mushrooms, on each other’s clothes, and over the trees’ branches, until all the bower looked like a golden sea in the sun, and her friends shone like bright stars.
“Isn’t it splendid weather,” asked Jingle, admiringly, looking up at the golden-roofed canopy, where never a cloud had been seen for ages.
“Oh, yes,” answered Glimmer, tossing her head, “but I can make it far more splendid.”
So she threw up more of the magical dust, and when it came fluttering down it stayed where it had fallen, making curious patterns like knotted lace upon the ground.
“This will look pretty, too,” she said, and let another pinch flow from her fingers.
Then, taking Jingle’s hand, she capsized them both right over the mushroom under which they were seated. There lay the two elves, while a dazzling beauty burst forth all around them.
“But this will never do,” Glimmer cried, as she looked at her helpless friends, and she gave another sprinkle of golden powder over them. Instantly a horrible mischief did its work—Glimmer had lost all her powers! Nothing was now left but a plain dullness, empty of all beauty.
Just in time, too, for slowly the old sweet beauty of the morning sun returned, and glittering star-like drops began to hang and twinkle on the trees’ branches.
“Come,” said Jingle, getting up and shaking himself, “this is no place for us; Glimmer’s power has gone with the sun.”
“But I’m so dull,” cried Glimmer vainly, shaking her dirty, dusty feathers. “Do come and admire your beauty, and I’ll pick the dust off for you.”
“No, thank you,” said Jingle, and they all fled away in search of a bright, glimmering place.
Now Glimmer felt quite alone. She wandered along the musical brook that murmured by her glade; but every flower turned its head away from her, and all the sweet-eyed butterflies would not believe their eyes, and feared the change foretold ill.
At last she came to a wide placid lake, where she could see a lovely image of herself dressed in beautiful garments, floating like a silver cloud on its surface—for her powers had returned at last.
With a merry laugh she clapped her hands together, and the ripples danced away, the picture melted into naught, and oh! how dull the flowers looked! And then she was so lonely, she was quite sorry she had scorned her friends, and she had no one to admire and to think her charming.
So she tried to reflect over all that had lately befallen them, and to understand why her friends had failed to come to her again, and hushed to silence even the merry birds of the woods, who sang for her once so willingly. But she could not see her own faults clearly enough, and flinging herself down on the margin of the lake, she burst into a fountain of tears.
Then the flowers came and laid their heads upon her shoulders. “Do not cry, we will come to you again,” they sighed in sweet pity, “and look pleasant for you always; but you must promise to love and value us, and not despise us so in future.”
“And we will come, too,” chirped the little birds, and Glimmer was very happy and merry once more, securing their promise of returning by celebrating her own birthday every day.
But, oh ! how many long, dull hours she had to spend, hungering for the company of her former friends!
Still she never returned to the cozy little room where things that delight little elves are stored.
“She will want gilded butterflies to go fluttering about her now,” said Mrs. Squirrel, who chattered strangely ever after, and kept all her beautiful china shells and amber berries hid quite from Glimmer’s eyes.
“Nay, nay,” whispered father and mother, “but we are too old. Tittigsy would do better.”
But Tittigsy was afraid to appear at all, just as another great fun-loving elf, who lived in the blue sky, was afraid to trust the golden snuff-box with a peculiar cap she owned in a hundred tremulous hands of another little bit of him, Si.
“I’m sure Glimmer would love to see Tittigsy,” cried Si.
But the snuff-box was of more use to him, and actually suffered himself to be tossed and tumbled amongst the waving palms, the fiery roses, and golden lily-cups of Lillooet, that grew on the wonderful shores of the latitude and longitude of Vanconver Island, in America.
“She’s too common, that Creole peasant girl, Salomualka Trudelley, from the feverish black country of so-called British Guiana,” said Glimmer; “but I’d pay dearly to visit De Endan on the banks of the map–meca–I never can say the word right.”
But Glimmer’s friend was rather fond of his comforts, and never forgot to ask her what she would have to pay, neither what would prevent the six weeks-long passage among the loathsome dengue-mosquitoes from Bermuda to Jamaica.
But what Glimmer would have liked best would have been to marry her good Elf Prince.