to his
lips, and blew a shrill, peculiar blast.

It was perfectly well understood, for in an instant, a hundred small
pink and white mushrooms sprang out of the earth, making the most
delightful little tables imaginable, quite equal to the finest
satin-wood, upon which the fairy servants and pages hastened to place
dishes of rose-leaves filled with honey-dust, and golden buttercups of
sparkling May-dew, which, having been bottled up for six weeks, foamed
and effervesced, and gave out a most exquisite aroma.

This was for the young fairies, who cared only for sweets. The elderly
fays were to be feasted upon broiled fly's legs, brought up hot, and
each one was rolled up in a leaf of pepper-grass, which gave them a
very piquant seasoning. These were garnished with small pearls,
steeped and softened in crab-apple vinegar, sharp enough and sour
enough to draw squeals from a Japanese ambassador, who never smiles
or squeals at any thing.

When all was ready, the fairies sat down at the tables, in pleasant
little parties of four and six, while the band played the most admired
fairy opera airs. But before the banquet was through, I am sadly
afraid some of the gay young fellows forgot they were in the presence
of ladies, they laughed so loud, and talked so much nonsense, and one
of them came very near upsetting the table at which he sat, spilling
his buttercup of dew all over the new gossamer dress of Lilliebelle,
who was next to him.

But this was nothing to the uproar which arose when the old prime
minister, who had been eating flies' legs, and little pearl pickles,
till he could scarcely breathe, attempted to leave his seat. The
little brown spider, sent by that mischievous Slyboots, had been hard
at work fastening his wings together in a net, and then tying them in
a most complicated cobweb knot to the honeysuckle vine just behind
him. The old prime minister fairly howled with rage; he turned and
twisted from side to side; he kicked and made awful faces at Slyboots,
who was giggling and laughing, and shaking his wings with glee at a
safe distance. An impudent mosquito came past, and sneered out in his
abominable nasal drone, "You don't seem to like a net any better than
I do;" while myriads of midges up in the air danced around him,
singing, Why-don't-you-get-out? Why-don't-you-get-out? Why-don't-you-
get-out? to which myriads of others answered, He-would-if-he-could-
but-he-couldn't! He-would-if-he-could-but-he-couldn'