heen."*
Let sound and shape to which the sense is dull
Haunt the soul opening on the Beautiful.
And when at length, the symbol voyage done,
Surviving Grief shrinks lonely from the sun,
By tender types show Grief what memories bloom
From lost delight, what fairies guard the tomb.
Scorn not the dream, O world-worn; pause a while,
New strength shall nerve thee as the dreams beguile,
Stung by the rest, less far shall seem the goal!
As sleep to life, so fiction to the soul.

* "Midsummer Night's Dream."

THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE

CHAPTER I. IN WHICH THE READER IS INTRODUCED TO QUEEN NYMPHALIN.

IN one of those green woods which belong so peculiarly to our island
(for the Continent has its forests, but England its woods) there lived,
a short time ago, a charming little fairy called Nymphalin. I believe
she is descended from a younger branch of the house of Mab; but perhaps
that may only be a genealogical fable, for your fairies are very
susceptible to the pride of ancestry, and it is impossible to deny that
they fall somewhat reluctantly into the liberal opinions so much in
vogue at the present day.

However that may be, it is quite certain that all the courtiers in
Nymphalin's domain (for she was a queen fairy) made a point of asserting
her right to this illustrious descent; and accordingly she quartered the
Mab arms with her own,--three acorns vert, with a grasshopper rampant.
It was as merry a little court as could possibly be conceived, and on
a fine midsummer night it would have been worth while attending the
queen's balls; that is to say, if you could have got a ticket, a favour
not obtained without great interest.

But, unhappily, until both men and fairies adopt Mr. Owen's proposition,
and live in parallelograms, they will always be the victims of _ennui_.
And Nymphalin, who had been disappointed in love, and was still
unmarried, had for the last five or six months been exceedingly tired
even of giving balls. She yawned very frequently, and consequently
yawning became a fashion.

"But why don't we have some new dances, my Pipalee?" said Nymphalin to
her favourite maid of honour; "these waltzes are very old-fashioned."

"Very old-fashioned," said Pipalee.

The queen gaped, and Pipalee did the same.

It was a gala night; the court was held in a lone and beautiful hollow,
with the wild brake closing round it on every side, so that no human
step could easily gain the spo