their feathers, and put out their feelers. Oh how they did dance! reels were nothing to it. The greatest difficulty was to keep the Grasshoppers in order. They became so excited that they sprang quite out of sight every moment, and so lost their partners, and ran against everybody in searching for them. Then the Bull-frog, who sang bass, got a little too much of the dew, and sang so loudly, that he quite drowned all the other players. So Mrs Butterfly put her claws in her ears, and running up to him, said, “Oh! dear Mr Bull-frog, pray do not sing quite so loudly.” The poor Bull-frog was almost weeping with joy at the merry scene before him, but he blushed very green on hearing this, and said he had forgotten what he was doing, but would try to be more careful. However, in five minutes more he was worse than ever, so they sent a few hundred bees to sing treble beside him, and try to keep him in order. In the middle of all this there was a sudden stop, and a Snail, stepping forward, offered to dance a minuet. This was received with such a roar of laughter that the poor snail, half frightened, half angry, drew in his horns and went to bed on the spot, and the dance was begun anew. By this time the Gnats and Midges, and some of the other flies, had left the ground and retired to enjoy a cool dance in the air. Two or three Spiders mounted up into the oak, and fastened threads to some of the branches, by which they dropped suddenly down among the dancers, and, seizing their partners round the waist, carried them screaming in among the leaves. So the fun and the noise became louder and louder. On the ground, under the bushes, among the branches of the trees, and in the air, the dancers bounded, skipped, laughed, sang, shouted, and flew in a way that had never been seen or heard of before. The merry old Bull-frog became quite absurd. He sang and roared like a lion; took up all the young insects in his arms and hugged them; tumbled over the other musicians, and, in short, did so many wild things that they were at length obliged to tie him to a paddock-stool, where they left him to enjoy himself.
Then, as evening gave way to the shadows of night,
Their watchman, the Glow-worm, came out with his light;
So home let us hasten, while yet we can see,
For no watchman is waiting for you or for me.
The sun went down at last, but still the dancers continued their sport under the old oak-tree, when suddenly a clear, beautiful light streamed across the turf. It was the Glow-worm’s light.
“How charming!” exclaimed the Butterfly. “It is such a sweet, subdued light.”
“Rather too much subdued,” growled the blundering Black Beetle, as he tripped over a twig and pulled his partner, a humble-bee, down with him; “couldn’t you shine a little brighter—eh?”
The Glow-worm shook his head. “Couldn’t give you another ray to save my life,” he said; “but if you send for a few of my friends, they will be happy to come and help me, no doubt.”
“A good suggestion,” said the Black Beetle, assisting his partner to rise.
“Oh, my poor frock,” cried the Humble-bee, gazing sadly at a long rent in the skirt.