IN the midst of a beautiful valley on the Rhine, known as the “Vale of Peace,” stood the cottage of an honest peasant. The lofty mountains, with their woody sides, seemed to shut out every thing but peace and contentment. A bubbling brook ran close by the cottage-door, and sweet-scented flowers grew along its sides. Merry birds sung sweetly the live-long day, and unaffrighted, built their nests around the peasant’s door. It was as if Paradise had been restored. Well might Peace love such a dwelling-place. Here the peasant had lived for years in the enjoyment of that quiet contentment which only peasants know. Every year he had reaped his unblighted grain, and gathered his purple grapes. No cruel wolf entered his sheep-fold, no disease carried off his cattle. For the fairies of the valley delighted to protect him, and would only do him good. Often would they come by moonlight, and play their merry pranks near the cottage, and he would wake and lie listening to their joyous shouts, blessing them in his heart. Often would they work while he was sleeping, and in the morning peep from their hiding-places, and laugh at his surprise at what they had done for him. And it seemed as if one half their merry lives was spent in making the peasant and his good wife happy. Thus the years had passed, and they had lived in quiet, wanting nothing but the merry shouts of childhood to make their happiness complete. Soon this joy came also, and a prattling daughter was added to their household. Loud were the fairies’ rejoicings, and long their dances on Minna’s birth-night. The rising moon had just begun to cast the long shadows of the mountains over the quiet valley, and its white light was just struggling through the silent tree-tops, when the fairy-queen summoned her elfin band to their bower. And well might fairies choose such a retreat. Myriad wild-rose vines, that had crept up the trunks of the trees, met overhead, and formed the fairy hall. The vine-leaves and the branches were so thickly entwined, that even the sunbeams could find no place to enter. Each side sloped gently down to the murmuring fountain which gushed forth from the midst, gladdening every thing with its coolness. The air was filled with the fragrance of the roses as the wind stirred lightly amongst their leaves. The humming-birds built their nests in the bower, and fed upon its sweets, for the fairies love them of all birds. Here would the fairy band repose all day. And many a time, when working away from his cottage, had the peasant heard their merry songs rising above the murmur of the forest. And when the sun went down, he would hasten home, loving them more than ever.