subject of Lord John Russel's last speech, and the "beautiful girl," so all important in her own eyes, is as entirely forgotten as if she had never been seen. And then, to let you into another secret, Aurora was by no means a very entertaining companion: nobody can be, with their heads full of themselves: and she had often the mortification, even in that scene of her triumph, a ball-room, of feeing her admirers drop off, to amuse themselves with other people; less handsome perhaps, but more interesting than herself.

And so the Fairies, having accompanied her through a day of Triumphs, mixed with mortifications, followed by languors, unsettled by hopes of future joy, clouded with anxieties that all but spoilt those hopes:—came one and all to the conclusion that Aurora could not be considered as a model of human happiness.

Nor could they say much more for Julia. Perhaps, indeed, there is more equanimity in the pleasures of a very rich person, than in those of a very beautiful one: but, oh dear, they are of such a mean sort! Still, there is a good deal of impertinent comfort in money I do admit. Life rolls on, upon such well oiled hinges! The rich say, "Do this," to people around them; and the people, "do it." But the Fairies had no sympathy with such an unnatural fault as the pride of wealth. They saw Julia reclining in one of those "lumbering things" they so much despised: and driving round the "dirty town" they so much disliked: and along a park a great deal too smoky for their taste: and they could not understand the haughty glance of self-satisfaction with which she looked out upon the walking crowds she passed, or the affected graciousness with which she smiled upon the few whom she condescended to recognize as acquaintances. They thought her very naughty and very absurd for being conceited about such matters. They followed her to her Milliner's too, and there I assure you they had nearly betrayed their presence by the uncontrollable fits of laughter they fell into when she was trying on, or talking about, bonnets, head dresses, gowns, &c. with the affected Frenchwoman who showed them off. Julia cared for nothing because it was pretty or tasteful, but chose every thing by its costliness and magnificence. Of course the milliner assured her that every thing she took a fancy to from its rarity, was becoming; and then, oh dear! how the Fairies were amused! for poor Julia looked downright ugly in some of the things she selected, and still went away as self satisfied as ever, on the old grounds that the costume was so expensive that none of her acquaintance could get one like it. This was still her chief comfort! Euphrosyne actually shook her fist at her as she was going away, and she had the toothache for the rest of the day, and was extremely cross to her husband in consequence. For, by the way, Julia had married—and married a nobleman—a man somewhat older than herself; but he and she had had a sort of mutual conviction that riches and rank go very well together, and so they married; and suited very well in this respect, that as their heads were full of other things they neither claimed nor required from each other a great amount of affection.

Still, was Julia happy? The Fairies shook their heads. She had gardens, hot-houses, magnificent collections of curiosities, treasures that might have softened and opened her heart, if she had made a right use of them. But riches have a very hardening tendency, and she never struggled against it.

Then, too, she could get every thing she wanted so easily, that she cared very little about anything. Life becomes very stale when your hands are full and you have nothing to ask for.

Her greatest pleasure was to create astonishment and envy among her associates: but, besides the naughtiness of the feeling, this is a triumph of very short duration; for most people, when they cannot get at what they envy, amuse themselves with something else; and then, what a mortification to see them do this!

"Besides," said the Fairies, "we must follow her into her solitude, to see if she is happy."

Ah! there, lying back once more in the easy chair, in a dress which—

"China's gayest art had dyed,"

do you think that self-satisfied, but still uncheerful looking face tells of happiness?

No! She too, like Aurora, was unoccupied, and forecasting into futurity for the "good time coming," which so many spend their lives in craving after and expecting, but which the proud, the selfish and the idle never reach to.

The Fairies turned from her sorrowful and angry.

In the outskirts of a forest, just where its intricacy had broken away into picturesque openings, leaving visible some strange old trees with knotted trunks and mysteriously twisted branches, sat a young girl sketching. She was intently engaged, but as her eyes were ever and anon raised from her paper to the opening glade, and one of the old trees, the Fairies had no difficulty in recognizing their protégée, Hermione. The laughing face of childhood had become sobered and refined by sentiment and strength, but contentment and even enjoyment beamed in her eyes as she thoughtfully and earnestly pursued her beautiful art. The little beings who hovered around her in that sweet spot, almost forgot they were not in Fairy land; the air was so full of sweet odours from ferns and mosses, and the many other delicious scents you find so constantly in woods.

Besides which, it amused the good souls to watch Hermione's skilful hand tracing the scene before her; and they felt an admiring delight when they saw the old tree of the forest reappear on the paper, with all the shadows and lights the sun just then threw upon it, and they wondered not a little at the skill with which she gave distance and perspective to the glade beyond. They felt, too, that though the drawing they saw rising under the sketcher's hand was not made powerful by brilliant effects or striking contrasts, it was nevertheless overflowing with the truth and sentiment of nature. It was the impression of the scene itself, viewed through the poetry of the artist's mind; and as the delicate creatures who hung over the picture, looked at it, they almost longed for it, slight as it was, that they might carry it away, and hang it up in their fairy palace as a faithful representation of one of the loveliest spots of earth, the outskirts of an ancient English forest.