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One of his neighbours, a lady of rank, had two daughters, who were perfectly beautiful. He proposed to marry one of them, leaving the mother to choose which of the two she would give him. Neither of the daughters, however, would have him, and they sent him from one to the other, each being unable to make up her mind to marry a man with a blue beard. A further reason which they had for disliking him was, that he had already been married several times, and nobody knew what had become of his wives. Blue Beard, in order to improve the acquaintance, took the girls with their mother, three or four of their most intimate friends, and some other young people who resided in the neighbourhood, to one of his country seats, where they spent an entire week. Nothing was thought of but excursions, hunting and fishing-parties, balls, entertainments, suppers; nobody went to bed; the whole night was passed in games and playing merry tricks on one another. In short, all went off so well, that the youngest daughter began to think that the beard of the master of the house was not so blue as it used to be, and that he was a very worthy man. Immediately upon their return to town the marriage took place.,

The King now began to be guided by his elder daughter's advice, and at times even held his Council in her apartments. The news of the change of affairs was spread abroad, and all the young princes of the neighbouring kingdoms exerted themselves to gain her affection, and nearly all of them asked her hand in marriage. She found none of them, however, intelligent enough to please her, and she listened to all of them, without engaging herself to one.,

“Didn’t you meet Mr. Whitney somewheres around here, Bob?” Mr. Hazard asked, turning to his son.,

Lars poked Johnny in the side. “Just listen to that, boy!”

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“You’ve been bully to me, Dad.”,

But while remembering that we shall be none the worse tomorrow for having been happy today, we are not permitted to forget entirely the Blue-devil Sprite that awaits the dawn. The play-spell is over; the lights are out in Vanity Fair; and here in Mr. Dulac's drawing is the leader of our Christmas Chorus as he shuts up the box and the puppets—"for our play is played out.",

“Oh, that? Well, that’s—that’s nothing.”,

“Cut it out,” stammered Bob, confused. “I didn’t do anything.”