A shepherd, who was of an unfortunately discontented turn of mind,—one who was much fonder of reclining lazily on a sunny bank, than of viewing his own lot on its sunny side—was one day moodily watching his flock, wishing himself all the while its owner instead of guardian; in other words, a happier man. His faithful dog lay beside him, and every now and then licked the hand of his master, as it hung listlessly by his side, and then looked up into his face, as if to read his thoughts. But the shepherd was in no humour to stroke the shaggy hide of his friend, Keeper—his envious musings having been diverted to the sleek coat of his master’s hunter, which had just bounded, with its wealthy rider, over an adjacent hedge. The sullen tender of flocks was all at once roused from his reverie by the small, silvery voice of a sprightly little fairy.

“What ails thee, my good man?” said she, tapping his shoulder with her wand; “you seem mighty melancholy. Have you met with any disaster?—lost anything?—perhaps your wife!”

“No such luck.”

“Or some of your sheep?”

“What should I care—they’re my master’s.”

“Your purse, then?”

“Purse!” growled the shepherd, “no great loss, if I had, for it’s always empty.”

“Ah! I think I can guess what’s the matter,” said the fairy: “you are wishing to be rich, and discontented because you are poor. But, prithee, now listen to me. Once upon a time, when we fairies used to mix much more with mankind than we do at present, we learnt many of their pernicious customs; and seeing the high store they set by money, and the uses to which they applied it, we (in an evil hour) resolved to have money of our own. Nature had ready coined it to our hands, in the gold and silver seeds of flowers, and these we stored up, and made our circulating medium. Then came amongst us, envy, avarice, dishonesty. Instead of being, as heretofore, the protectors of the beautiful flowers, we became their ravagers; instead of the most benevolent and happy little creatures in the world, we became a discontented, malevolent, and restless race. We began to dislike our native dells and dingles, and to haunt, more than ever, the habitations of man. We knew well enough, however, that the cause of all our misery had been our foolish imitation of their practices; and with a view to revenge, many a sorry trick and mischievous prank did we delight to play them—as, doubtless, you may have often heard. This, however, availed us nothing; and, at last, growing tired of such profitless vengeance, we made up our minds to return entirely to our shady recesses, and, what was better, to our ancient habits. Truly, it cost some of us not a little to part with our stores of golden treasure; but at last we all agreed to throw away our money; and having then no further use for our purses, we hung them up, as memorials of our folly, upon the most ugly and worthless weeds we could discover, where you may even now behold them.”

The fairy, as she spoke, pointed out to the shepherd some mean, ragged-looking plants which grew beside him; and, sure enough, there he saw suspended, the little triangular pods or purses, of which she had been speaking.

They proved more useful to him than they had done to their former possessors; for the common weed to which they were attached, could never in future, cross his path, without reminding him of the lesson of his fairy monitress; taught by which, he soon found that, in the enjoyment of a contented mind, a light purse need not always make a heavy heart.

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