It is not always well to place
Unbounded Faith in Fairy Lore,
Believing that in every case
They all lived Happy evermore.
Stranger than Fiction though we deem
The Truth, it does not follow, too,
That Fairy Tales, because they seem
Still Stranger, must be still more True.
Far be it from me to assail
The Truthfulness of Fairy Writ,
But let us take a Well-Known Tale
And see what really came of it.
When Cinderella wed the Prince
She thought him all her Fancy Painted,
And this was not surprising since
They were not very Well Acquainted.
While he, not dreaming where she got
Glass slippers, counted on a Dot.
The Prince was Brave, Industrious, Wise:
Brave in bright Silks and Satins gay,
Wise in the Lore of Ladies’ Eyes,
And most Industrious—at Play;
A Leader, too—in Fashion’s Set;
And Deep—that is to say, in Debt.
Who was the Somebody of Note?
(I never could remember names)
Was it Mark Twain or Mr. Choate
Or Mrs. Ward or Henry James
That penn’d those words of Wise Import,
“Who weds in haste repents—in court”?
But let us not Anticipate.
The Princess wore a Plain Gold Frock;
No Fairy Dress to spoil the fête
By vanishing at Twelve o’clock.
This time no Spell her pleasure blighted—
Her god-mamma was not invited.
Not that she really meant to flout
Her Benefactress; but you see
She had not told the Prince about
Her Fairy Godmother, lest he
Might change his mind if he foresaw
A Fairy God-mamma-in-law.
A Fairy may be Good or Ill,
A Godmother Morose or Gay;
A Mother-in-law, say what you will,
Is not immortal any way.
But wouldn’t it a Bridegroom stun
To think of all three rolled in one?
All day the envelope she scann’d.
But though her royal name it bore,
’Twas in an Unfamiliar Hand.
The Postmark puzzled her still more.
The Princess could not understand
Who’d write to her from——
She turned it Left, she turned it Right,
She pinched it, shook it to and fro,
She held it up against the Light,
And topsy-turvy wise—but no,
It still continued to preserve
Its air of Self-contained Reserve.
One day the Princess in a Pet,
It was her Last, her only hope,
Summoned her Trusty Cabinet,
To Sit upon the Envelope,
And at no matter what expense,
To end her Terrible Suspense.
But all their Learnéd Consultations
Ended in Nought, for what avail
Mere Man’s Unerring Calculations
Where WOMAN’S Intuitions fail?
Their Weighty Brains refused to cope
With that Unyielding Envelope.