magicians were ordered to come forward and name their reward;
but they bowed their heads, and simply besought the King that he would
grant them seven rye straws, the peeling from a red apple, and the heel
from one of his old slippers. What in the name of common sense they
wanted with these, no one but themselves knew; but magicians are such
strange creatures! When these valuable gifts had been bestowed upon
them, the five good magicians departed, leaving the dwarf for the King
to do what he pleased with. This little wretch was shut up in an iron
cage, and every day was obliged to eat three codfish, a bushel of Irish
potatoes, and eleven pounds of bran crackers, and to drink a gallon of
cambric tea; all of which things he despised from the bottom of his
miserable little heart.

[Illustration]

"Now," cried the King, "all is settled, and let everybody go to bed.
There is room enough in the palace for all to sleep to-night. Form in
line, and to bed,--MARCH!" So they all formed in line, and began to
march to bed, to the music of the band; and the fairies, their little
horns blowing, and with Ting-a-ling at the post of honor by the Queen,
took up their line of march, out of the window to the garden, which was
to be, henceforward forever, their own. Just as they were all filing
out, in flew little Parsley on the back of his butterfly, which had been
hatched out at last.

"Hello!" cried he. "Is it all over?"

"Pretty nearly," said Ting-a-ling. "It's just letting out. How came you
to be so late?"

"Easy enough," said poor little Parsley. "Of all the mean things that
ever was the pokiest long time in unwrapping its wings, this butterfly's
the meanest."

THE MAGICAL MUSIC.

There was once an excessively mighty King, Barradin the Great, who died,
leaving no sons or daughters, or any relation on the face of the earth,
to inherit his crown. So his throne, at the time of which I write, was
vacant. This mighty King had been of a very peculiar disposition. Unlike
other potentates, he took no delight in going to war, or in cutting off
people's heads, or in getting married, or building palaces. But he was a
great musician. All that he cared for, seemed to be music; and the whole
of his leisure time, with a great many of his business hours, was
occupied in either composing or performing music of some kind. Everybody
around him was obliged to be musical; and if one was not so, it would be
of no use for him to apply for any