THE best days of the fairies seem to have passed away forever. They have enjoyed their golden age; an age of moon-light, revelry and song, and are now almost forgotten. We see strange circles in the meadows, like those our simple ancestors called 'fairy rings,' but in our wisdom attribute them to something very different, indeed, from blithe, dancing fairies, and laugh at the boor who will not believe that they are formed by electricity. We never meet with a merry troupe of elfin dancers in our moon-light walks, nor happen upon any of those beautiful fairy bowers, of which we have read so many gorgeous descriptions. The proscribed fairy race is almost extinct, nor can its few survivors have much hope in the future. A generation brought up to count the phases of the planets, and to reason on denominational differences in religion, instead of telling and hearing fairytales, will not be very tolerant with such little things as fairies. Although the belief in this peculiar class of spirits, seemingly so harmless in itself and free from the ill effects of most other superstitions, would seem the least likely to be speedily overthrown by advancing civilization, it has been crushed and trampled under her feet.

The few who still believe in these 'tricksome' agents of good and evil, and do not confound them all with the enemies of man's soul, are only a remnant of their once great crowd of followers; and even they are passing away. The land in which Oberon and Titania once lived and reigned has long since forsaken its allegiance to their race, and can hardly endure their presence upon its soil. And the sprightly fays

of Germany owe it to the mystery of their unapproachable hidingplaces in the forests, that they were not long ago banished from the land. We crush many beautiful things under foot while advancing in knowledge and power; as one heedlessly treads upon the half-hidden flowers of the field. Yet there are a few countries, in parts of which these spirits play their pranks almost as merrily as in the days of 'sweet Puck,' and favor the good people, whom they love, in as right good earnest as ever. Few, indeed, are these blessed places. It is a matter of sad history to us, that our own country has never been the abode of fairies. It is perhaps rather owing to the peculiar character of the first settlers of America, than to any unfitness of the country itself, that neither elves nor fairies crossed the sea with them, to fix their abodes here. Had the pilgrims to this western land been so well disposed towards this tiny race as were their Anglo-Saxon ancestors, the fairies would have crossed the ocean with them, and peopled our noble mountains and beautiful valleys with their lively forms. It is recorded of the Pucks, who were inhabitants of Frieseland and progenitors of 'Robin Gooodfellow' of England, that the emigrants from the north could not even get rid of them when they sailed for England, but were accompanied by them as settlers in that country. Would that a legion merry Pucks had stuck as close to our ancestors when they sailed from England!

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The character of a genuine fairy of old is made up of a greater variety of qualities than could be noticed within the limits of a single paper. I will notice only a few of the most prominent. I shall confine myself almost wholly to the sprites of Germany and Britain, properly called 'fays,' or 'fairies,' who claimed to be descendants of the Druids, and preserved a certain sacredness of character not found perhaps in any of the other classes of subordinate spirits. In parts of Britain they went by the names of good neighbors' and 'good people;' while in Germany they had others equally propitiatory. They may be called household spirits, like the brownies' of Scotland, to distinguish them from those fearful spirits who were wont to steal young children from their parents, and who loved to injure travellers in the night. Every one who is familiar with those beautiful legends which are the history of the fairy race, must have noticed the unfailing love of these fairies for good people, and the untiring zeal with which they harass evildoers. This love of good and hatred of evil is quite characteristic of them. In olden days, (certainly the better days of the fairies,) the honest peasant of Germany was often surprised at his wonderful success in life, till he counted the fairy-circles near his cottage, and perceived how numerous his tiny friends were. Nor did he forget to secure their future aid by blessing them for that already past. The good housewife of England was often sorely puzzled to tell why her butter 'came' so hard and yellow, while that of her neighbor, who, as many believed, had not so much goodness in her as she seemed to have, if it came at all, was soft and white. But at last it would come out that the fairies helped along the good dame's cream, while they were mischievously disposed toward that of her neighbor. And so in a thousand strange ways they showed their preference of good.

They were excessively fond of young maidens, and made it their delight to assist and protect them. Some of the most touching ballads and legends of antiquity are founded on this, the fairies' love for innocence and purity, the most attractive and worthy trait in their whole character. Whenever one of their fair charges was sporting through the fields, a hundred nimble fingers were busy before her, disentangling the long grass, that she might not trip and fall; and if she broke forth in girlish song, an unseen chorus of merry voices attended her. When she went to gather flowers from the hill-side, the fairies were sure to be there before her, raising the drooping lilies and violets, and brushing the dust from them with their light wings. They presided at the maiden's birth, watched over and blessed her childhood, and when she died, they wept and sang dirges for her with heartfelt sorrow. That these spirits were sometimes mischievous is well known to the readers of their legends. They were often brim-full of mischief. Many a poor wight who has been misled

'O'er hills and sinking bogs, and pathless downs,'

can bear witness to that. They rarely did harm in their mischief, for they took more pleasure in teasing people by their freaks than in hurting them.

How often some solitary traveller on the wide moor has quickened his musing walk into a lively run, on hearing a shrill whistle close behind him, and has ran faster and faster, as he got a hearty pinch at every step, until the loud laughter around him betrayed his merry tormentors! Such sport is indeed perplexing to the subjects of it, but is undoubtedly meant by these kind guardians of man's welfare to teach, in a practical way, the virtue of patience. In Puck, or Robin Goodfellow, some of the good and all of the mischievous propensities of the fairy race combine, and form a rare compound indeed. Puck is the likeness of his race, at least in its mischievous features, drawn by the hand of the master-poet of England. Puck's description of his own character in that inimitable passage commencing:

"Thou speak'st aright;

I am that merry wanderer of the night;"

is too familiar for repetition here. In that short passage he reveals his whole character, and sets forth the quality of mischievousness as possessed, though in a less degree, by his whole race. Their freaks of merry mischief served to give their good deeds all the more relish. For all their pranks, this quality of their character is in perfect keeping with their love of goodness. It seems to be a wise provision by which they insured the full appreciation of their kindnesses; knowing that all sunshine and no clouds is tiresome, as Tennyson says:

'PR'ITHEE weep, MAY LILIAN;
Gaiety without eclipse
Wearieth me, MAY LILIAN.'

The last of the fairies' most prominent traits of character, which I shall here notice, is their well-known love of music and dancing. They

were all musicians. Music was part of their very life. Every moonlight night they left their bowers to dance upon the green sward, and to fill the air with their strange music. With hearts as free from care as singing-birds, they sported the night long to their own sweet notes. The sound of their moon-light revelry was often heard in the cottage, and as often filled the hearts of its inmates with gladness :

"THEIR oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill,

The hemlock small blew clear;

And louder notes from hemlock large,
And bog-reed, struck the ear;

They sing, inspired with love and joy,
Like sky-larks in the air.'-TAMERLANE.

Perchance some midnight traveller, whose weary feet dragged along heavily, has sat down by the way-side almost faint-hearted. As he sits and vexes his patience with thoughts of the long miles still before him, his ear catches the sound of the fairies' voices. Peals of merry laughter come sounding through the air, and close upon them come floating strains of unearthly music. He, who but now was almost despairing, gets up and goes lightly on his way to the melody of their merriment, his heart growing lighter at every step. Could we know, as they knew, how many hearts our cheerfulness may lighten and inspirit, we should be more like them in this trait of character. Time never hung heavily on the hands of the fairies, for they well knew that,

'Lightlier move the minutes fledged with music;"

and that it is only self-punishment to be gloomy. Thus were the olden fairies good, cheerful and happy. But the happy beings have gone somewhere beyond this wise and busy world, perhaps to a more congenial planet than ours. Alas! that so much of our own bright moonlight should now pass away unimproved by their happy meetings!

Whither has the queen, 'no bigger than an agate-stone,' gone, that she rides no more upon the silvery moon-beams? Where now are royal Oberon, queenly_Titania, and 'sweet Puck,' 'that merry wanderer of the night? Have they fled forever from the chilly presence of mankind? Then, let us at least preserve the wondrous stories of their lives, as a sacred memento of their past worth and beauty. Gladly would we have a host of fairies answer by their presence the call of the poetess of their once favored land :

Bowdoin College, Sept. 28, 1850.

'ROUND the forest fountain,

On the river shore,

Let your silvery laughter
Echo yet once more;
While the joyous boundings
Of your dewy feet

Ring to that old chorus,
'The daisy is so sweet.'

OBERON! TITANIA!

Did your woodland mirth,

With the song of Avon,

Quit this work-day earth?

Yet while green leaves listen,
And while bright stars burn,
By that magic memory,
Oh, return! return!"

W. S. 8.