St. Paul’s Cathedral was attacked with an army of brushes. Before Midsummer-day came, the great architectural crown of London emerged in white glory from its setting of roofs--they were flower-filled now--and soon would be pointing to the heavens, a burnished dome of bronze. Trees were planted along the sides of every main thoroughfare. Silent motor-buses glided through green avenues. Statues not doomed by the order of ugliness were cleansed; and, where their subject allowed it, were adorned with flowers festooned about their pedestals. Trafalgar Square was, at last, in process of becoming worthy of its position and opportunity. A new story, architecturally handsome, was superimposed on the National Gallery, removing the past insignificance. The Square itself became a joy in marble and roses. Whitehall sparkled with fountains. The rails of the Parks were removed. The Thames grew silvern again. Men fished from boats alongside the Embankment, and listened to the choruses of concerts in the gardens which graced the fine thoroughfare. It was a favourite sight in future years to watch the salmon running down to sea, and, later, making their willing return to the upper reaches beyond Teddington. Members of Parliament--there were petticoats amongst them--in the intervals of beneficent debate--threw food from the Terrace to fishes and seagulls. Cockneys hoped for a hay-harvest on Clerkenwell Green. And that is all we need say to show how splendidly the fairies were causing men to modify London. Beauty was living; vulgarity was dying. Hopefulness, happiness, kindness reigned. We must go back to an earlier stage of the triumph of June, when the happy developments, aforesaid, were generally but generating in men’s minds, and had not come to actual processes of materialization. It was April--the beginning of the last week of the joyous month; and though on all sides of her there was bustling evidence of her absolute victory, June felt sad, for Oberon had given no sign of his forgiveness. He and Titania were the only fairies who had not come to justify her happiness. Realizing this, she had almost enough sorrow for tears. Why did not the king come? Could his displeasure still be active? As she flew here, there, and all about the radiant Metropolis--from over which the pall of evil had been finally removed--she sighed and sighed again. Her comrades, seeing the sadness, her burden, were grieved. It was the only dark speck on a condition of absolute joy. June visited her human friends--Sally Wilkins, the Oldsteins, Archdeacon Pryde, the Mosses, the Duke and Duchess of Armingham, Lord Geoffrey Season, Sir Titus Dods--and rejoiced to find them still at work on the right lines, marching the way of fairy progress, but her yellow depression clung to her and would not be shaken off. Strange that even in the hour of fulfilled joy she should be haunted by the spectre of disappointment; but so it was.