“On my giving the promise demanded, 'It seems,' said he, 'the fairies, though living so far apart from men, are still dependent upon them for their bread, and must come down now and then to the mill for their grist, which John takes good care to leave out for them, or they would turn off the water from above, he says. When they are on their way back, they are always in good humor if they have found their grist, and are willing to take up a passenger in their boat. But it must be a girl, and therefore I have never been able to go up in that way myself. They say that women can find the way to their camp, but can never find the way back; but if men should once get in, they would think of nothing but getting back to report it, and it would be overrun with visitors, who would bring nothing with them, and carry every thing away. For it is a custom of their hospitality to present every guest with a gift; to the women an ornament of their beauty with which they would never part, but to the men they could give nothing which they would not carry home to convert into money. So that it is doubtful which of us has the advantage; you who can get in, but can make nothing of it, or I, who could turn it to account, but cannot get in.'
“'O, I, to be sure!' said I; 'for the great thing after all is to get in. But how am I to secure a passage in their boat?'
“He told me I must be asleep on the bank of the stream at the time the fairies' boat would be going up, and they would take me in when they saw me. He had tried to find out from John when they were in the habit of coming for their grist; but John could not tell, or would not, as he did not care to watch their comings or goings, he said. So long as they allowed him sufficient head of water to keep the mill going, it was none of his business, and they were not people that he cared to meddle with. But he supposed they came, when they did come, at night, or sometimes, perhaps, when he was taking his nooning.
“After that I went every day to the bank of the stream, and did my best to compose myself to sleep; but in vain: the more I tried to sleep, the more I would be awake, in spite of the counsel of my brother, who gave me no peace on the subject of sleep, and was continually telling me of Napoleon, who had the power of going to sleep whenever he chose. At last, one day when I had fairly given up in despair, and had forgotten all about the fairies, and every thing else but the rippling of the stream,—for it happened to be the hour of noon, and the mill wheel was still, which usually drowned the voice of the brook,—I must have been falling into a sound sleep, when the rippling changed into the silver laughter of infant voices, and then a murmuring and consulting, breaking into faint acclamations, as of a busy throng, babbling, in an under tone, of some mysterious plot against some one they were fearful of waking. And then I felt myself borne away on little undulating arms, too far gone in sleep to resist, and then dancing and flickering on tiny waves, and lulled by their liquid echoes, till I lost myself in a deep sleep, which seemed to be pillowed on a sense of being carried on and on into a realm of silence, and then being lifted and carried, as on a living bier, with new senses waking clearer and clearer, as if naked in the delicate air of a new life, and at last waking and finding myself alone in an open space of forest, shadowed by trees of an unknown grace, and lighted by magic vistas where the distance found its last repose on the summits of sun-lit mountains.
“A perpetual afternoon shaded that sward of loveliest green, alive with fairest flowers, with not a breath of air stirring the heavy leaves; and if the slender stems of the undergrowth waved ever so lightly, it was with an almost imperceptible motion of their own. Yet was there not at that moment the same slight movement in every shrub and leaf? and where were those who had brought me hither? Was it a whispering I heard behind me? There was no one there, but, gradually, as in the silence of the night the air is oppressed by the sense of some one being in the room, I became aware of being surrounded by invisible beings, who were holding their breaths with a general hush, that I might not know they were there. In a moment every thing lighted up with the thought that I was within the charmed circle of the fairies, and a mysterious influence from something close at hand brought back the most distant recollection of my childhood, as the magic word that would compel the fairies to appear. A faint perfume drew my eyes downward, and at my feet was the little violet, my first and earliest love. I stooped to pick it, but an 'Ah!' of horror stayed my hand, which already held the stem. 'No,' I said, shutting my eyes as if to enclose the dear recollection of my childhood safe from harm, 'thy life is more to me than to know all.' When I opened my eyes the violet was gone, and in my hand I held a wand, as if a line from the purple edge of a rainbow.
“I waved it around my head, and every thing stood clear and perfect in a light that seemed to crystallize with distinctness the texture of every flower and leaf. I waved it again, and it was as if a page of Hebrew had become the most domestic English.
“Was not this enough?
“But I waved it a third time, and Heavens! every tree, and shrub, and flower had disappeared, and in the place of each was a human figure, but one transfigured into a form of inconceivable majesty, grace, or loveliness. But each stood fixed as by its root to its place, and I thought, 'Could I only say the word that would set them free!' A voice whispered in my ear, 'The free only can set free.' Then I felt for the first time how heavy I was in the presence of those graceful creatures, and my weight seemed to sink down into a root that fastened my feet to the ground.
“Was there still another set of fairies, invisible to the eye? I felt myself lifted by unseen arms, and could feel harmonious breaths around me like an atmosphere which I was inhaling through every pore, and which was swelling every fibre with a thrill of lightness, until I only touched the ground like a bird ready to fly. I raised the wand, and a strain from an unseen band lifted on its wings the whole assembly surrounding the green, who nodded, and waved, and swayed with the opening movement as if catching the time of a tune to which they were to dance; the flute and the violin catching, like a flame, from one to the other, the tortuous wreathing of the bass-viol, with labored ease possessing their limbs, and the bugle and the trumpet, with a gush of melody in which all the rest joined, leaving their graceful heads floating in the loveliest confusion of harmony. Then a pause fell like a shadow, pointing across the greensward; and when it ended, faint as figures in a deep valley, burst forth a chorus of tiny voices, and there were the fairies themselves, in groups on groups, and wreath involved in wreath, dancing to their own song, countless as the fireflies in a meadow on a summer evening.
“'If I were only small enough to dance with them!' said I, listening so intently that I felt myself contracting into the compass of their song, and the wand diminishing in my hand, till there we were, myself and the loveliest little fairy queen dancing together through the mazes of the tiny troop, bewildered by the grace of the faces that passed us like dreams of beauty, and the soft crush of bewitching dresses that wafted, as they swept by us, such dizzy perfumes as only the bee or the butterfly could imagine. The songs to which we danced, every group singing a different one, and yet all in harmony, were without words; but our feet, pattering, innumerable as the drops of a silver rain, or the softest piano and flute accompaniment, echoed with their meaning, and every step was the understanding of emotions, for which language had no name. For we were so slight and pure that there was no interval between the music and the meaning, but our forms, which were only the harmony and enjoyment of both, sparkling into life each moment our footsteps touched the ground.