But this genial little fairy is easily grieved and estranged. Her movements are impulsive, she abhors calculators, and allows no questions. If she shows you a shining gem, be careful not to inquire what would be its price in the market; otherwise its lustre will fade instantly, and you will have to ask others whether the thing you hold in your hand has any beauty or value. If she beckons into blooming paths, follow her in simple faith, whether she leads to castles in the moon, or lifts up a coverlet of leaves to peep at little floral spirits sound asleep, with their arms twined round the fragrant blossoms of the arbutus. She carries with her Aladdin’s lamp, and all the things she looks upon are luminous with transfigured glory. Take heed not to inquire where the path will lead to, whether others are accustomed to walk in it, or whether they will believe your report of its wonderful beauty. Above all, be careful not to wish that such visions may be kept from the souls of others, that your own riches may seem marvellous and peculiar. Wish _this_ but for a single instant and you will find yourself all alone, in cold gray woods, where owls hoot, and spectral shadows seem to lie in wait for you. But if with a full heart you crave forgiveness for the selfish thought, and pray earnestly that the divine Spirit of Beauty may be revealed to all, and not one single child of God be excluded from the radiant palace, then will the fairy come to you again, and say, “Now thou and I are friends again. Give me thy hand, and I will lead thee into gardens of paradise. Because thou hast not wished to shut up _any_ thing, therefore thou shalt possess _all_ things.” Instantly the cold gray woods shine through a veil of gold; the shadows dance, and all the little birds sing, “Joy be with thee.” A spirit nods welcome to you from every cluster of dried grass; a soul beams through the commonest pebble; ferns bow before you more gracefully than the plumes of princes; and verdant mosses kiss your feet more softly than the richest velvets of Genoa. Trust the good little fairy. Be not disturbed by the mockery of those who despise her simple joys. She said truly, “I alone am rich; always, and everywhere, rich.” WERGELAND, THE POET. The busy bees, up coming from the meadows To the sweet cedar, fed him with soft flowers, Because the Muse had filled his mouth with nectar. LEIGH HUNT.