There was once a beautiful land of green rolling meadows, rising in hillocks of tall, feathery grass, now spreading out in fragrant violet marshes with clumps of silvery willows here and there,-again stretching green and level, where the broad river wound its course until it disappeared in the forest of pines and gleaming birches beyond. Above the forest rose the mountains, cold, still, and blue, where the white mist gathered silently at evening and rolled mysteriously away at dawn.

Here dwelt a fairy-a real fairy; not one of those gauzywinged elves that flit from bud to bud, stealing the honey from its rightful owners the bees, and looking very perishable and bewitching, notwithstanding. No, not a make-believe fairy at all, but a wonderful being, so grand and beautiful, and yet so warm-hearted and humble, that there was never a creature too small and humble in all her land to feel her loving warmth and presence.

And this presence was the fairy. She took no distinct form of being, dwelt in no enchanted lily or accommodating buttercup, nor spoke a voiced language. But preferring to love her land as her heart's dearest treasure, and to dwell in closest communion with its every feature, she spread herself over it all, guarding and cherishing it by her presence.

The little ground-sparrow flew far away over the meadows, fearing no harm for her nest of eggs hidden in the warm sweet clover, which she left all day, safe in the loving care of the fairy. The pale rosebud, opening to the light, flushed deep with delight in the presence of her sovereign. When the river seemed bluer than the sky it reflected, and when its little current waves lapped playfully against one another, then the fairy was laughing; when at evening the broad fields lay peaceful with long shadows across them, then the heart of the fairy was beating in peace and rest. Again, as the fleecy clouds scurried across the heavens, happy thoughts were likewise flitting before the vision of the fairy. By her land she lived, and by it expressed her every mood.

But after a long period of happiness a subtle change began to appear in the land. Sometimes a startled doe would bound out of the forest depths and stand alert and shivering at the brink of the stream. Then the fairy, filled with strange alarm, would listen for some long expected sound, she knew not what. At times she fancied it to be a human cry breaking through the hushed silence. But the hollow echo sounded only the frightened notes of her birds, as they had uttered them a minute before, or the last rush of playful wind through the treetops. The suspense was but momentary, and soon the frightened doe forgot her alarm in cooling draughts of water.

Though this land was not remote from busy worlds where men toiled after glory, riches, and all prosperity, still no living being had ever known the beauties of its realm or felt the pres

ence of its queen. No foot had trodden the soft carpets of rich grass, no hand had broken a flower from its stalk. And ofttimes the fairy wished for other souls besides her own to comprehend the grandeur of her land, for hearts that would thrill and beat like hers in the love and joy of living; or, if these wishes were too vain, for some one simply to inhale the perfume of her flowers, to feel the soft clinging tendrils of vines, as he lay under a canopy of green foliage or buried his head deep among flowers and creepers to drink of a virgin spring.

The more the fairy thought, the more lonely she became, longing for something worthy of a higher affection than even her beloved land. So gradually, very gradually, she withdrew from her old self, unconsciously letting in the chill winds, where once only sunshine was permitted to come. Her loving vigilance and care seemed growing weaker and weaker, and often at eventide, when the far-soaring hawk directed his flight homewards and the wandering crow floated silently on his black wings to the nest in the pine-top, a sadness would creep into the land and suffuse the golden sunset.

It was whispered about from flower to flower that the good fairy, the life of them all, was on the verge of a dreadful calamity. Being a fairy, and immortal, death could not harm, but a deep, death-like slumber was about to enshroud her, for how long they knew not. The daisies bending sorrowfully on their stems ceased to dazzle in the sun, the clover forgot to send forth its fragrance, and many a rosebud opened pale and wan. One flower alone lifted its head hopefully; 'twas the tiny purple heart's-ease.

"Yet a little while and he will come; fear not, dear sisters!" Thus did this brave little flower strive to cheer the melancholy land.

Now the days grew colder and shorter, the peaceful nights grew long and lonely. Sometimes the poor fairy was heard sighing as if bemoaning some long lost memory. And at length one dreariest night, growing ever weaker and weaker, she sank into deep oblivion. A chill wind howled dismally through the dark pines, and a cold moon shone out of the darkness, unmoved by the piteous sight of flowers wilted and grass bent low by the storm. A white mist rose silently from the broad river and, spreading out over the valley, enfolded in its damp, cold vapor the land she loved.

Finally, in over the pale, mist-covered land, came light, warm and yellow, streaming in from afar. And as ever the light grew stronger, the mist turned to gold and purple haze, deeper and deeper until, clarified by the golden light, it glowed like a beautiful opal held in the sun. The warmth of the new glory penetrated the chill air, and as the light brightened it widened for itself a path through the purpling mist even to the sleeping fairy.

Through her slumber she felt its glow; she turned her frozen. heart toward it and then-from away out of the vista of yellow light, came strains of heart-rending music; at first, the sounds of sadly dripping water, then those of a clear, tender voice full of passionate sorrow, rising to ecstasy, sinking to a low, smothered moan. And now the sad, lonesome dirge swelled and thrilled, telling as only it could tell the sorrows and temptations in a longing, burning soul, the endless conflicts, and the final triumph of the noble and true instincts.

The trembling mist rolled slowly back, gathering into itself a thousand new colors born of the strange light; and in the place of darkness and chill stood the image of a beautiful boy. Fair, white, and gleaming, his head crowned with a soft, mournful glow, his lips parted in sorrowful melody,-yes, there he stood, the first visitant of the forsaken land. For a moment he paused, and seeing the once lovely country now all blight and desolation, in his new grief he forgot to sing. His beautiful form shivered, his golden head bent, and the land became filled with weeping. Then the fairy bestirred herself. Her numb, frozen limbs found unexpected life and power, and, charmed by the music, she soon was standing in wondering pity and compassion beside the weeping figure.

Lo, as soon as the presence of the good fairy returned, no longer was there silence or death; for her kingdom awoke with her. Once more the daisies shone bravely in the light; again the wood-robin wound his sweet call; and the river caught once more the color of her eyes, and its little current waves tumbled merrily along as of yore, when the fairy smiled. The little heart's-ease,-how tall it stood on its slender stem, its face radiantly happy! For had he not come, of whom she had prophesied? But he wept, nor felt yet the loving presence of the fairy about him. And she, tenderly striving to reach his stricken. soul and to express her all-embracing pity, clothed herself in a

form akin to his, one he would understand,-that of a beautiful woman. Gently she laid her hand on his shoulder, gently, so gently, that he raised his head and their eyes met. Love, tenderness, pity, and a great desire to understand, he read in the lovingkindness of her blue eyes. Ah! she was young, young as he, she would understand! He let his eyes turn from her

an instant and for the first time saw the land alight with sun and loveliness.

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"Ah! then you did awake?" he suddenly exclaimed in eager tones, turning back to her. How long I have hunted for you! I thought it was too late and you had died."

Now the fairy, who had been so lost in pity for him, suddenly remembered the cold, cold sleep which had held her a prisoner all those long winter nights; recalled the beautifully sad music that had first aroused her sympathetic heart to life and energy. She looked at the boy, shining and triumphant, who had wakened and restored her to living; and the spirit of the fairy, though now embodied in the form he best might comprehend, turned in love and gratitude towards him.

So when, suddenly bursting forth in merry laughter, he seized both her hands in his, kissing her boyishly on both cheeks and smiling, oh so happily, in her face, she felt how young, how very young and childlike and simple he was, such a one as she had longed for as companion in her beautiful but lonely land.

"Come," she cried, leaning toward him, "hereafter thou shalt dwell in my home, shalt rule as I rule, shalt live as I live. Henceforth I abide in the form akin to thine, a real woman, as formerly a real fairy; and thou-"

"And I-"he rejoined, unconscious, in his joy, of the few brilliant tears still lingering on his beautiful lashes.

"And thou," she repeated, pausing to look across to the hills she loved, "thou shalt be the Strength of my heart; for thou wert Grief when thou didst arouse me, but I am ever Sympathy."

ESTHER CONANT.

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