old tea-chest, which will come to the same thing. * * * * * Father's house is not finished, though the wing is; for now the builder says it will be all wrong if there isn't another to match; And my house isn't done either, though it's nailed on, for Bill took off the roof to make a new one of thatch. The paint is very much scratched, but he says that's nothing, for it must have had a new coat; And he means to paint it for me, inside and out, when he paints his own boat. There's a sad hole in the floor, but Bill says the wood is as rotten as rotten can be: Which was why he made such a mess of the side with trying to put real glass in the window, through which one can see. Bill says he believes that the shortest plan would be to make a new Doll's House with proper rooms, in the regular way; Which was what the builder said to Father when he wanted to build in the old front; and to-day I heard him tell him the old materials were no good to use and weren't worth the expense of carting away. I don't know when I shall be able to play at dolls again, for all the things are put away in a box; Except Jemima and the pestle-and-mortar, and they're in the bottom drawer with my Sunday frocks. I almost wish I had kept the house as it was before; We managed very well with a painted window and without a front door. I don't know what Father means to do with his house, but if ever mine is finished, I'll never have it altered any more. THE BLUE-BELLS ON THE LEA. FAIRY KING. "The breeze is on the Blue-bells, The wind is on the lea; Stay out! stay out! my little lad, And chase the wind with me. If you will give yourself to me, Within the fairy ring, At deep midnight, When stars are bright, You'll hear the Blue-bells ring-- D! DI! DIN! DING! On slender stems they swing. "The rustling wind, the whistling wind, We'll chase him to and fro, We'll chase him up, we'll chase him down To where the King-cups grow; And where old Jack-o'-Lantern waits To light us on our way, And far behind, Upon the wind, The Blue-bells seem to play-- D! DI! DIN! DING! Lest we should go astray. "So gay that fairy music, So jubilant those bells, How days and weeks and months go by No happy listener tells! The toad-stools are with sweetmeats spread, The new Moon lends her light, And ringers small Wait, one and all, To ring with all their might-- D! DI! DIN! DING! And welcome you to night."