Last Spring, my friendly little one guided me to a silver-voiced waterfall at Weehawken, where a group of German forget-me-nots were sitting with their feet in the water. Their little blue eyes laughed when they saw me. I asked what made them smile in my face so lovingly. They answered, “Because we hear a pleasant song, and _you_ know what it says to us.” It was not I who knew; it was the fairy; but she had magnetized me, and so I heard all that was said to her. A wealthy invalid passed by, afflicted with dyspepsia. He did not see the flowers smile, or hear the waterfall singing his flowing melody of love to the blue eyes that made his home so beautiful. He had parted from the fairy long ago. He told her she was a fool, and that none would ever grow rich, who suffered themselves to be led by her. She laughed and said, “Thou dost not know that I alone am rich; always, and every where, rich. But go thy ways, vain worldling. Shouldst thou come back to me, I will ask if thou hast ever found any thing equal to my gems and rainbows.” She gazed after him for a moment, and laughed again, as she exclaimed, “Aha, let him try!” The gay little spirit spoke truly; for indeed there is nothing so real as her unrealities. Those who have parted from her complain that she made them large promises in their early time, and has never kept them; but to those who remain with her trustfully, she more than fulfils all. For _them_ she covers the moss-grown rock with gold, and fills the wintry air with diamonds. It is many years since she first began to tell me her fine stories. But this very last New Year’s day she led me out into the country, and lighted up all the landscape as I went, so that it seemed lovelier than the rarest pictures. The round bright face of the moon smiled at me, and said, “I know thee well. Thou hast built many castles up here. Come to them whenever thou wilt. Their rose-coloured drapery, with rainbow fringes, is more real than silken festoons in Broadway palaces.” I was glad at heart, and I said to my fairy, “The sheriff cannot attach _our_ furniture, or sell _our_ castles at auction.” “No indeed,” she replied. “He cannot even _see_ them. He has forgotten me. He thinks all the gems I show are only pebbles, and all my prismatic mantles mere soap-bubbles.”