gest a contact
with nature which otherwise might never be developed. Where angels and
archangels overawe by their omnipotence, the microscopic fairies who can
sit singing upon a mushroom and dangle from the swaying stem of a
bluebell, carry the thoughts down the scale of life to the little and
really important things. A sleepy child will rather believe that the
Queen of the Fairies is acting sentry upon the knob of the bedpost than
that an angel stands at the head of the cot with great wings spread in
protection--wings which suggest the probability of claws and a beak to
match.

The dragons which can only be slain by the noble knight, the
enchantments which can only be broken by the outwitting of the evil
witch, the lady who can only be won by perils bravely endured, form the
material of moral lessons which no other method of teaching could so
impress upon the youthful mind.

And when mature years are attained the atmosphere of Fairyland remains
with us. The lost songs of the little people drift through the brain,
recalling the infinite possibilities of beauty and goodness which are so
slightly out of reach; the forgotten wonder of elfs and brownies
suggests itself to us from the heart of flowers and amidst the leaves of
trees. The clear depths of the sea take half their charm from the
memory of the mermaid's palace; the silence of forests is rich with the
expectancy of the Knight of the Golden Plume; the large spaces of
kitchens and corridors are hushed for the concealment of Robin
Goodfellow.

It is the elusiveness, the enchantment, of Fairyland which, for the
mature mind, constitutes its greatest value and charm; it is a man's
desire for the realms of Midsummer-night that makes the building of
those realms in our childhood so valuable. We are constantly
endeavouring to recapture the grace of that intangible kingdom, and the
hope of ultimate success retains the elasticity of the mind. Held fast
by the stiffened joints of reason and closeted with the gout of science,
we are fettered prisoners in the world unless there be the knowledge
that something eludes us to lead us on. We know quite well that the
fairies do not exist, but at the same time we cannot deny that the
elusive atmosphere of Fairyland is one with that of our fondest dreams.

Who has not, upon a grey morning, awakened from sleep with the knowledge
that he has passed out from a kingdom of dream more dear than all the
realms of real life? Vainly we ende