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And, when they hear my chirrup clear,
The children stop their playing–
With eager feet they haste to greet
My welcome music, saying:
“The little thing has come to sing
Of woodland, hedge, and thicket–
Of summer day and lambs at play–
Oh, how we love the cricket!”

“This merry little song always seemed to please everybody except the gnat. The fairies appeared to regard the gnat as a pestiferous insect, but a contemptuous pity led them to call upon him for a recitation, which invariably was in the following strain:

THE FATE OF THE FLIMFLAM

A flimflam flopped from a fillamaloo,
Where the pollywog pinkled so pale,
And the pipkin piped a petulant “pooh”
To the garrulous gawp of the gale.
“Oh, woe to the swap of the sweeping swipe
That booms on the hobbling bay!”
Snickered the snark to the snoozing snipe
That lurked where the lamprey lay.

The gluglug glinked in the glimmering gloam,
Where the buzbuz bumbled his bee–
When the flimflam flitted, all flecked with foam,
From the sozzling and succulent sea.
“Oh, swither the swipe, with its sweltering sweep!”
She swore as she swayed in a swoon,
And a doleful dank dumped over the deep,
To the lay of the limpid loon!

“This was simply horrid, as you all will allow. The queen and her fairy followers were much relieved when the honest katydid narrated a pleasant moral in the form of a ballad to this effect:

CONTENTMENT

Once on a time an old red hen
Went strutting ’round with pompous clucks,
For she had little babies ten,
A part of which were tiny ducks.
“‘T is very rare that hens,” said she,
“Have baby ducks as well as chicks–
But I possess, as you can see,
Of chickens four and ducklings six!”

A season later, this old hen
Appeared, still cackling of her luck,
For, though she boasted babies ten,
Not one among them was a duck!
“‘T is well,” she murmured, brooding o’er
The little chicks of fleecy down–
“My babies now will stay ashore,
And, consequently, cannot drown!”

The following spring the old red hen
Clucked just as proudly as of yore–
But lo! her babes were ducklings ten,
Instead of chickens, as before!
“‘T is better,” said the old red hen,
As she surveyed her waddling brood;
“A little water now and then
Will surely do my darlings good!”

But oh! alas, how very sad!
When gentle spring rolled round again
The eggs eventuated bad,
And childless was the old red hen!
Yet patiently she bore her woe,
And still she wore a cheerful air,
And said: “‘T is best these things are so,
For babies are a dreadful care!”

I half suspect that many men,
And many, many women, too,
Could learn a lesson from the hen
With foliage of vermilion hue;
She ne’er presumed to take offence
At any fate that might befall,
But meekly bowed to Providence–
She was contented–that was all!

“Then the fairies would resume their dancing. Each little gentleman fairy would bow to his lady fairy and sing in the most musical of voices:

Sweet little fairy,
Tender and airy,
Come, let us dance on the good baby-eyes;
Merrily skipping,
Cheerily tripping,
Murmur we ever our soft lullabies.

“And then, as the rest danced, the fairy queen sang the following slumber-song, accompanied by the orchestra:

A FAIRY LULLABY

There are two stars in yonder steeps
That watch the baby while he sleeps.
But while the baby is awake
And singing gayly all day long,
The little stars their slumbers take
Lulled by the music of his song.
So sleep, dear tired baby, sleep
While little stars their vigils keep.