The Zankiwank and The Bletherwitch: An Original Fantastic Fairy Extravaganza

The Zankiwank

and

The Bletherwitch

An Original Fantastic Fairy Extravaganza

"Imagination is always the ruling and divine power, and the rest of the man is only the instrument which it sounds, or the tablet on which it writes."

John Ruskin.

The ZANKIWANK & The BLETHERWITCH

BY S.J. ADAIR FITZGERALD
WITH PICTURES BY ARTHUR RACKHAM

LONDON J.M. DENT & CO.
ALDINE HOUSE E.C. 1896

All Rights Reserved

To
MY BLANCHE
I AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBE
THIS LITTLE BOOK

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Part I

A Trip to Fable Land

By the Queen-Moon's mystic light,
By the hush of holy night,
By the woodland deep and green,
By the starlight's silver sheen,
By the zephyr's whispered spell,
Brooding Powers Invisible,
Faerie Court and Elfin Throng,
Unto whom the groves belong,
And by Laws of ancient date,
Found in Scrolls of Faerie Fate,
Stream and fount are dedicate.
Whereso'er your feet to-day
Far from haunts of men may stray,
We adjure you stay no more
Exiles on an alien shore,
But with spells of magic birth
Once again make glad the earth.

Philip Dayre.

A Trip to Fable Land

"Well," said the Zankiwank as he swallowed another jam tart, "I think we had better start on our travels at once."

They were all standing under the clock at Charing Cross Station when the station was closed and everybody else had departed, except the train which the Zankiwank had himself chartered. It was all so odd and strange, and the gathering was so very motley, that if it had been to-morrow morning instead of last night, Willie and Maude would certainly have said they had both been dreaming. But, of course, they were not dreaming because they were wide-awake and dressed. Besides, they remembered Charing Cross Station quite well, having started therefrom with their father and mother only last summer when they went to the sea-side for their holidays—and what jolly times they had on the sands! So Maude said promptly, "It is not Night-mare or Dreams or Anything. We don't know what it is, but we must not go to sleep, Willie, in case anything should happen."

Willie replied that he did not want to go to sleep any more. "I believe it's a show," he added, "and somebody's run away with us. How lovely! I'm glad we are lost. Let us go and ask that tall gentleman, who looks like the parlour-tongs in a bathing-suit, to give us some more buns." For, being a boy, he could always eat buns, or an abundance of them, only I hope you won't tell the nursery governess I told you.

It was the Zankiwank, who was doing some conjuring tricks for the benefit of the Jackarandajam and Mr Swinglebinks, to whom Willie referred. The Zankiwank was certainly a very curious person to look at. He had very long legs, very long arms, and a very small body, a long neck and a head like a peacock. He was not wearing a bathing suit as Willie imagined, because there were tails to his jacket, hanging down almost to his heels. He wore a sash round his waist, and his clothes were all speckled as though he had been peppered with the colours out of a very large kaleidoscope. The Jackarandajam was also rather tall and thin, but dressed in the very height of fashion, with a flower in his coat and a cigarette in his mouth, which he never smoked because he never lit it. He was believed by all the others—you shall know who all the others were presently—to know more things than the Man-in-the-Moon, because he nearly always said something that nobody else ever thought of. And the Man-in-the-Moon knows more things than the Old Woman of Mars. You have naturally heard all about Mars—at least, if you have not heard all about her, you all have heard about her, which is just the same thing, only reversed.

There was an Old Woman of Mars
Who'd constantly say "Bless my stars,
There's the Sun and the Moon
And the Earth in a swoon,
All dying for par-tic-u-lars-u-lars!
Of this planet of mine called Mars!"

Mr Swinglebinks, unlike his two companions, was short, stout, and dreadfully important. In Fable Land, where we are going as soon as we start for that happy place, he kept a grocer's shop once upon a time. As nobody cared a fig for his sugar and currants, however, he retired from business and took to dates and the making of new almanacks, and was now travelling about for the benefit of his figures. He was very strong on arithmetic, and could read, write, and arith-metise before he went to school, so he never went at all.

While the Zankiwank was talking to his friends an unseen porter rang an unseen bell, and called out in an unknown tongue:—

"Take your seats for Fableland,
Which stands upon a Tableland,
And don't distress the guard.
And when you pass the Cableland
Say nothing to the Gableland
Because it hurts the guard."

"We must put that porter back in the bottle," said the Jackarandajam, "we shall want some bottled porter to drink on the road."

"Well," said Maude, "what a ridiculous thing to say. We don't bottle railway porters, I am sure."

"I wish the Bletherwitch would come," exclaimed the Zankiwank, "we shall miss the next train. She is most provoking. She promised to be here three weeks ago, and we have been waiting ever since."

This astounding statement quite disturbed Willie, who almost swallowed a bun in his excitement. Had he and Maude been waiting there three weeks as well? What would they think at home? You see Maude and Willie, who were brother and sister, had been on a visit to their grandmama; and on their way home they had fallen asleep in the carriage, after having repeated to each other all the wonderful fairy tales their grandmama had related to them. How long they had slept they could not guess, but when they woke up, instead of finding themselves at home in St George's Square, they discovered that they were at Charing Cross Station. Mary, their nurse, had disappeared, so had John the coachman, and it was the Zankiwank who had opened the door and assisted them to alight, saying at the same time most politely—

"I assist you to alight, because it is so dark."

Then he gave them buns and chocolates, icecreams, apples, pears, shrimps and cranberry tarts. So it stands to reason that after such a mixture they were rather perplexed. However, they did not seem very much distressed, and as they were both fond of adventures, especially in books, they were quite content to accept the Zankiwank's offer to take them for a ride in the midnight-express to Fable Land, over which, as everybody knows, King Æsop reigns. Maudie was nine and a half and Willie was eight and a quarter. Very nice ages indeed, unless you happen to be younger or older, and then your own age is nicer still.

"I think," said the Zankiwank, "that we will start without the Bletherwitch. She knows the way and can take a balloon."

"If she takes a balloon she will lose it. You had better let the balloon take her," exclaimed the Jackarandajam severely.

"Take your places! Take your places!" cried the unseen porter. So everybody made a rush for the train, and they all entered a Pullman Car and sat down on the seats.

"Dear me! How very incorrectly that porter speaks. He means, of course, that the seats should take, or receive us."

The Zankiwank only smiled, while Mr Swinglebinks commenced counting up to a hundred, but as he lost one, he could only count up to ninety-nine—so, to keep his arithmetic going, he subtracted a time-piece from his neighbour's pocket, multiplied his foot-warmers, and divided his attention between the Wimble and the Wamble, who were both of the party, being left-handed and deaf.

Maudie and Willie took their places in the car with all the other passengers amid a perfect babel of chattering and laughing and crying, and then, as the train began to slowly move out of the station, the Zankiwank solemnly sang the following serious song:—

Off to Fable Land.

The midnight train departs at three,
To Fable Land we go,
For this express is nothing less
Than a steamer, don't you know!
We're sailing now upon the Thames,
All in a penny boat,
And we soon shall change for a mountain range,
In the atmosphere to float!

So off we go to Fable Land—
(Speak kindly to the guard!)
Which many think a Babel-land,
But this you disregard.
You'll find it is a Stable-land,
With stables in the yard—
A possible, probable, Able-land,
So do not vex the guard!

We've left behind us Charing Cross,
And all the town in bed;
For it is plain, though in this train,
We're standing on our head!
We're riding now in Bedfordshire,
Which is the Land of Nod;
And yet in the sky we are flying high,
Which seems extremely odd!

So off we go to Fable Land—
(Speak kindly to the guard!)
Which many think a Babel-land,
But this you disregard.
You'll find it is a Stable-land,
With stables in the yard—
A possible, probable, Able-land,
So do not vex the guard!

Maudie and Willie found themselves joining lustily in the chorus when the Zankiwank pulled the cord communicating with the guard, and, opening the window, climbed out on to the top of the carriage calling all the time:—

"Guard! Guard! Guard!
Don't go so hard,
Just give the brake a hitch!
To Charing Cross return—
Nay, do not look so stern—
For I would not tell a cram,
I must send a telegram,
To my darling little Bletherwitch."

So the guard turned the train round, and they went back to Charing Cross as quick as lightning.

"It's my fault," moaned the Jackarandajam, "I ought to have reminded you. Never mind, we will put on another engine."

So the Zankiwank got out and sent a telegram to the Bletherwitch, and desired her to follow on in a balloon.

Again they started, and everybody settled down until the train reached the British Channel, when it dived through a tunnel into an uninhabited country, where the post-office clerk popped his head into the carriage window and handed in a telegram.

"From the Bletherwitch,
To the Zankiwank.

Don't wait tea. Gone to the Dentists."

"Extremely thoughtful," exclaimed everybody. But the Zankiwank wept, and explained to the sympathetic Maude that he was engaged to be married to the Bletherwitch, and he had been waiting for her for fourteen years. "Such a charming creature. I will introduce you when she comes. Fancy, she is only two feet one inch and one third high. Such a suitable height for a bride."

"What," expostulated Willie and Maude together, "she's no bigger than our baby! And you are quite——"

"Eight feet and one half of an inch."

"How disproportionate! It seems to me to be a most unequal match," answered Maude. "What does her mother say?"

"Oh, she hasn't got any mother, you know. That would not do. She has been asleep for two thousand years, and has only just woke up to the fact that I am her destiny."

"She is only joking," declared Maude. "Two thousand years! She must be joking!"

"No," replied the Zankiwank somewhat sadly, "she is not joking. She never jokes. She is of Scottish descent," he added reflectively. "I hope she will keep her appointment. I am afraid she is rather giddy!——"

"Giddy! Well, if she has waited two thousand years before making up her mind to go to the dentists she must be giddy. I am afraid you are not speaking the truth."

Before any reply could be given the Guard came to the window and said they would have to go back to Charing Cross again as he forgot to pay his rent, and he always paid his rent on Monday.

"But this is not Monday," said Willie. "Yesterday was Monday. To-day is to-morrow you know, therefore it is Tuesday. Pay your landlady double next Monday and that will do just as well."

The Guard hesitated.

"Don't vex the Guard," they all said in chorus.

"I am not vexed," said the Guard, touching his hat. "Do you think it would be right to pay double? You see my landlady is single. She might not like it."

"Write 'I. O. U.' on a post-card and send it to her. It will do just as well, if not better," suggested Mr Swinglebinks.

So the Guard sent the post-card; but in his agitation he told the engineer driver to go straight ahead instead of round the corner. The consequence was that they were run into by a Demon on a bicycle, and thrown out of the train down a coal mine. Luckily there were no coals in the mine so it did not matter, and they went boldly forward—that is to say, Willie and Maude did, and knocked at the front door of a handsome house that suddenly appeared before them.

Nobody opened the door, so they walked in. They looked behind them, but could not see the Zankiwank or any of the passengers in the train; therefore, not knowing what else to do, they went upstairs. They appeared to be walking up stairs for hours without coming to a landing or meeting with anyone, and the interminable steps began to grow monotonous. Presently they heard a scuffling and a stamping and a roaring behind them and something or somebody began to push them most rudely until at last the wall gave way, the stairs gave way, they gave way, and tumbled right on to the tips of their noses.

"Out of the way! Out of the way!" screamed a chorus of curious voices, and Maude and Willie found themselves taken by the hand by a weird-looking dwarf with a swivel eye and an elevated proboscis, and led out of danger.

The children could not help gazing upon their preserver, who was so grotesquely formed, with a humped back, twisted legs, very long arms, and such a funny little body without any neck. But his eyes atoned for everything—they sparkled and glinted in their sockets like bright brown diamonds—only there are no brown diamonds, you know, only white and pink ones.

The Dwarf did not appear to mind the wondering looks of the children at all, but patted them on the cheeks and told them not to be frightened. But whether he meant frightened of himself, or of the Birds, Beasts, and Fishes that were hurrying by in such confusing masses, they could not tell. One thing, however, that astonished them very much was the deference with which they greeted their quaint rescuer, as they passed by. For every creature from the Lion to the Mouse bowed most politely as they approached him, and then went on their way gaily frisking, for this was their weekly half-holiday.

"How do you like my Menagerie," enquired the Dwarf. "Rough and ready, perhaps, but as docile as a flat-iron if you treat them properly."

"It is just like the Zoo," declared Willie. "Or the animals in Æsop's Fables," suggested Maude.

This delighted the Dwarf very much, for though he looked so serious, he was full of good humour and skipped about with much agility.

"Good! Good!" he cried. "Æsop and the Zoo! Ha! Ha! He! He! Anybody can be a Zoo but only one can be Æsop, and I am he!"

"Æsop! Are you really Mr Æsop, the Phrygian Philosopher?" cried Maude.

"King Æsop, I should say," corrected Willie. "I am glad we have met you, because now, perhaps, you will kindly tell us what a Fable really is."

"A Fable," said the merry Æsop, with a twinkle in his witty eyes, "is a fictitious story about nothing that ever happened, related by nobody that ever lived. And the moral is, that every one is quite innocent, only they must not do it again!"

"Ah! that is only your fun," said Willie sagely, "because of the moral. Why do they give you so many morals?"

"I don't know," answered Æsop gravely. "But the Commentators and Editors do give a lot of applications and morals to the tales of my animals, don't they?"

"I like a tale with a moral," averred Maude, "it finishes everything up so satisfactorily, I think. Now, Mr Æsop, as you know so much, please tell us what a proverb is?"

"Ah!" replied Mr Æsop, "I don't make proverbs. There are too many already, but a proverb usually seems to me to be something you always theoretically remember to practically forget."

Neither of the children quite understood this, though Maude thought it was what her papa would call satire, and satire was such a strange word that she could never fully comprehend the meaning.

Willie was silent too, like his sister, and seeing them deep in thought, King Æsop waved a little wand he had in his hand, and all the Birds and Beasts and Fishes joined hands and paws, and fins and wings, and danced in a circle singing to the music of a quantity of piping birds in the trees:—

If you want to be merry and wise,
You must all be as bright as you can,
You never must quarrel,
Or spoil a right moral,
But live on a regular plan.
You must read, write and arith-metise,
Or you'll never grow up to be good;
And you mustn't say "Won't,"
Or "I shan't" and "I don't,"
Or disturb the Indicative Mood.

So round about the Knowledge Tree,
Each boy and girl must go,
To learn in school the golden rule,
And Duty's line to toe!

If you want to be clever and smart,
You must also be ready for play,
And don't be too subtle
When batting your shuttle,
But sport in a frolicsome way.
With bat and with ball take your part,
Or with little doll perched on your knee,
You sing all the time,
To a nursery rhyme,
Before you go in to your tea!

So round about the Sunset Tree
Each boy and girl should go
To play a game of—What's its name?
That is each game—you know!

After merrily joining in this very original song, with dancing accompaniment, Maude and Willie thanked King Æsop for permitting his animals to entertain them.

"Always glad to please good little boys and girls, you know," he replied pleasantly, "even in their play they furnish us with a new fable and a moral."

"And that is?"

"All play and no work makes the world stand still."

Before they could ask for an explanation, their attention was once more drawn to the animals, who had commenced playing all kinds of games just the same as they themselves played in the play-ground at school. The Toads were playing Leap-frog; the Elephants and the Bears, Fly the Garter; the Dromedaries, Hi! Spie! Hi! while the snakes were trundling their hoops. The Lions and the Lambs were playing at cricket with the Donkeys as fielders and the Wombat as umpire.

The Frogs were in a corner by themselves playing "Kiss in the Ring," and crying out:—

"It isn't you! It isn't you!
We none of us know what to do,"

in a very serio-comic manner. Then the Storks and the Cranes and the Geese and the Ganders were standing in a circle singing:—

Sally, Sally Waters,
Sitting in the Moon,
With the camel's daughters,
All through the afternoon!
Oh Sally! Bo Sally!
Where's your dusting pan;
My Sally! Fie Sally!
Here is your young man!

In another part the Crabs, the Sheep, and the Fox, were vowing that London Bridge was Broken Down, because they had not half-a-crown, which seemed a curious reason. Then all the rest of the wild creatures, Birds, Beasts, and Fishes, commenced an extraordinary dance, singing, croaking, flapping their fins and spreading their wings, to these words:—

We are a crowd of jolly boys,
All romping on the lea;
We always make this merry noise,
When we return from sea.

So we go round and round and round,
Because we've come ashore;
For Topsy Turvey we are bound,
So round again once more.

Go in and out of the coppice,
Go in and out at the door;
And do not wake the poppies,
Who want to have a snore.

It was too ridiculous; they could recognise every animal they had read about in Æsop, and they were all behaving in a manner they little dreamed could be possible, out of a Night-mare. But it certainly was not a Night-mare, though they could distinguish several horses and ponies.

They never seemed to stop in their games, and even the Ants and the Gnats were playing—and above all a game of football,—though as some played according to Association and some to Rugby rules, of course it was rather perplexing to the on-lookers. When they grew tired of watching the Animal World enjoying their holiday, they turned to consult King Æsop, but to their astonishment, he was not near them—he had vanished! And when they turned round the other way the Animals had vanished too, and they were quite alone. Indeed everything seemed to disappear, even the light that had been their guide so long, and they began to tremble with fear and apprehension.

Not a sound was to be heard, and darkness gradually fell around them. They held each other by the hand, and determined to go forward, but to their dismay they could not move! They were glued to the earth. They tried to speak, but their tongues stuck to the roofs of their mouths, and they were in great distress. "Where, Oh where was the Zankiwank?" they wondered in their thoughts. And a buzzing in their ears took up the refrain:—

The Zankiwank, the Zankiwank,
Oh where, Oh where is the Zankiwank?
He brought us here, and much we fear
His conduct's far from Franky-wank!
The Zankiwank, the Zankiwank,
He has gone to seek the Bletherwitch,
Oh the Zankiwank, 'tis a panky prank
To leave us here to die in a ditch.

"A telegram, did you say? For me, of course, what an age you have been. How is my blushing bride? Let me see—

'From the Bletherwitch, Nonsuch Street,
To the Zankiwank, Nodland.

Forgot my new shoes, and the housemaid's killed the parrot. Put the kettle on.'"

Then the children heard some sobbing sound soughing through the silence and they knew that they were saved. Also that the Zankiwank was weeping. So with a strong effort Maude managed to call out consolingly, "Zankiwanky, dear! don't cry, come and let me comfort you."

But the Zankiwank refused to be comforted. However, he came forward muttering an incantation of some sort, and Maude and Willie finding themselves free, rushed forward and greeted him.

"Hush, my dears, the Nargalnannacus is afloat on the wild, wild main. We must be careful and depart, or he will turn us into something unpleasant—the last century or may be the next, as it is close at hand, and inexpensive. Follow me to the ship that is waiting in the Bay Window, and we will go and get some Floranges."

Carefully Maudie and Willie followed the Zankiwank, each holding on by the tails of his coat, glad enough to go anywhere out of the Blackness of the Dark.

Soon they found themselves in Window Bay, and climbing up the sides of a mighty ship with five funnels and a red-haired captain.

"Quick," called the Captain, "the Nargalnannacus is on the lee scuppers just off the jibboom brace. Make all sail for the Straights of Ballambangjan, and mind the garden gate."

Then the Zankiwank became the man at the wheel, and the vessel scudded before the wind as the two children went off into a trance.

Part II

The Fairies' Feather and
Flower Land

Faëry elves,
Whose midnight revels, by a forest side
Or fountain, some belated peasant sees,
Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon
Sits arbitress.

Milton.

O then I see Queen Mab hath been with you:
She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a train of little atomies,
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep.

Shakespeare.

The Fairies' Feather and
Flower Land

How long Maude and Willie had been rocking in the cradle of the deep they could not tell, nor how long it took them to steam through the Straits of Ballambangjan, for everything was exceptionally bleak and blank to them. By the way, if you cannot find the Straits of Ballambangjan in your Geography or on the Map, you should consult the first sailor you meet, and he will give you as much information on the subject as any boy or girl need require.

Both children experienced that curious sensation of feeling asleep while they were wide awake, and feeling wide awake when they imagined themselves to be asleep, just as one does feel sometimes in the early morning, when the sun is beginning to peep through the blinds, and the starlings are chattering, and the sparrows are tweeting under the eaves, outside the window.

They were no longer on the vessel that had borne them away from Fableland, and the approach of the Nargalnannacus, a fearsome creature whom nobody has yet seen, although most of us may not have heard about him.

The obliging Zankiwank was with them, and when they looked round they found themselves in a square field festooned with the misty curtains of the Elfin Dawn.

"Of course," said the Zankiwank, "this is Midsummer Day, and very soon it will be Midsummer Night, and you will see some wonders that will outwonder all the wonders that wonderful people have ever wondered both before and afterwards. Listen to the Flower-Fairies—not the garden flowers, but the wild-flowers; they will sing you a song, while I beat time—not that there is any real need to beat Time, because he is a most respectable person, though he always contrives to beat us."

Both children would have liked to argue out this speech of the Zankiwank because it puzzled them, and they felt it would not parse properly. However, as just at that moment the Elfin Orchestra appeared, they sat on the grass and listened:—

The Elfin Dawn.

This is the Elfin Dawn,
When ev'ry Fay and Faun,
Trips o'er the earth with joy and mirth,
And Pleasure takes the maun.
Night's noon stars coyly peep,
O'er dale and dene and deep,
And Fairies fair float through the air,
Love's festival to keep.

We dance and sing in the Welkin Ring,
While Heather Bells go Ding-dong-ding!
To greet the Elfin Dawn.
The Flower-fairies spread each wing,
And trip about with mincing ging,
Upon the magic lawn.

And so we frisk and play,
Like mortals, in the day;
From acorn cup we all wake up
Titania to obey.
We never, never die,
And this the reason why,
Of Fancy's art we are the part
That lives eternalie.

We dance and sing in the Welkin Ring,
While Heather Bells go Ding-dong-ding!
To greet the Elfin Dawn.
The Flower-fairies spread each wing,
And trip about with mincing ging,
Upon the magic lawn.

"They keep very good time, don't they?" said the Zankiwank to the children, who were completely entranced with pleasure and surprise.

"Lovely, lovely," was all they could say.

Every wild flower they could think of, and every bird of the air, was to be seen in this beautiful place with the purling stream running down the centre, crossed by innumerable rustic bridges, while far away they could see a fountain ever sending upward its cooling sprays of crystal water.

"I think I shall spend my honeymoon here," said the Zankiwank. "I have already bought a honeycomb for my bride. I am so impatient to have her by my side that I have dispatched the Jackarandajam and Mr Swinglebinks in a four-wheeled cab to fetch her. When the Bletherwitch arrives I will introduce you, and you shall both be bridesmaids!"

"But I can't be a bridesmaid, you know," corrected Willie.

"Oh yes, you can. You can be anything here you like. You only have to eat some Fern seeds and you become invisible, and nobody would know you. It is so simple, and saves a lot of argument. And you should never argue about anything unless you know nothing about it, then you are sure to win."

"But," interrupted Maude, "how can you know nothing about anything?"

"'Tis the easiest thing out of the world," said the Zankiwank. "What is nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Precisely. Nothing is nothing; but what is better than nothing?"

"Something."

"Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! Where is your logic? Nothing is better than something! I'll prove it:—

"Nothing is sweeter than honey,
Nothing's more bitter than gall,
Nothing that's comic is funny,
Nothing is shorter than tall."

"That is nonsense and nothing to do with the case," exclaimed Maude.

"Nonsense? Nonsense? Did you say nonsense?"

"Of course she did," said Willie, "and so do I."

"Nonsense! To me? Do you forget what my name is?"

"Oh, no, nothing easier than to remember it. You are the Great Zankiwank."

"Thank you, I am satisfied. I thought you had forgotten. I am not cross with you."

Maude and Willie vowed they would not cross him for anything, let alone nothing, and so the Zankiwank was appeased and offered to give them the correct answer to his own unanswerable conundrum. Do you know what a conundrum is though? I will tell you while the Zankiwank is curling his whiskers:—

A conundrum is an impossible question with an improbable answer. Think it over the next time you read "Robinson Crusoe."

"Nothing is better than a good little girl;
But a jam tart is better than nothing,
Therefore a jam tart is better than the best little girl alive."

"What do you think of that?" said the Zankiwank.

"I have heard something like it before. But that is nothing. Anyhow I would much rather be a little girl than a jam tart—because a jam tart must be sour because it's tart, and a little girl is always sweet," promptly replied Willie, kissing his sister Maude on the nose—but that was an accident, because she moved at the wrong moment.

"You distress me," said the Zankiwank. "Suppose I were to try to shoot Folly as it flies, and hit a Fool's Cap and Bells instead, what would you say?"

"I should say that you had shot at nothing and missed it."

At this Maude and Willie laughed girlsterously and boysterously, and the Zankiwank wept three silent tears in the teeth of the wind and declared that nothing took his fancy so much as having nothing to take. So they took him by the arm and begged him, as he was so clever and had mentioned the name, to take them to Fancy's dwelling-place.

"I think Fancy must dwell amongst the wild flowers—the sweet beautiful wild flowers that grow in such charming variety of disorder." Saying this, Maude took Willie's hand and urged the Zankiwank forward.

Before the Zankiwank could reply, a company of fairies, all dressed in pink and green, leapt from the petals of the flowers and danced forward, singing to the buzz of the bees and the breaking note of the yellow-ammer with his bright gamboge breast:—

Where is Fancy Bred.

O would you know where Fancy dwells?
And where she flaunts her head?
Come to the daisy-spangled dells,
And seek her in her bed.
For Fancy is a maiden sweet,
With all a maiden's whims;
As quick as thought—as Magic fleet—
Like gossamer she skims.

O seek among the birds and bees,
And search among the buds;
In babbling brook, in silver seas,
Or in the raging floods.
Gaze upward to the starry vault;
Or ask the golden sun:
Though ever you will be at fault
Before your task is done.

O would you know where Fancy dwells?
It is not in the flow'rs;
It is not in the chime of bells,
Nor in the waking hours.
It is not in the learnëd brain,
Nor in the busy mart;
It lives not with the false and vain,
But in the tender heart.

As mysteriously as they had appeared, the fairies vanished again, and only the rustling of the leaves and the twittering of the birds making melody all around, reminded the children that they were on enchanted ground. Now and then the bull-frogs would set up a croaking chorus in some marshy land far behind, but as no one could distinguish what they said it did not matter.

O to be here for ever,
With the fairy band,
O to wake up never
From this dreamy land!
For the humblest plant is weighted
With some new perfume,
And the scent of the air drops like some prayer
And mingles with the bloom.
O to be here for ever, and never, never wake.

Was that the music of the spheres they wondered? Somehow it seemed as though their own hearts' echo played to the words that fell so soft, like a fair sweet tender melody of fairies long ago.

The Zankiwank had left them again, to send another telegram, perhaps, and Maude and Willie went rambling through the meadow and down by the brook, where they gathered nuts and berries and sat them down to enjoy a rural feast.

Tiny elves and fairies were constantly coming and going, some driving in wee chariots with ants for horses and oak leaves for carriages. And while all the other flowers seemed quite gay and merry in the sunshine, the Poppies were nodding their scarlet heads and gently dozing, what time some wild Holly Hocks beat to and fro murmuring—

Sleep! Sleep! Sleep!
While the corn is ready to reap.
Sleep! Sleep! Sleep!
And the lightest hours a-creep.
Sleep! Sleep! Sleep!
On the edge of the misty deep.

As they lay upon the bank, to their surprise a procession of birds came along, the two foremost being fine handsome thrushes, carrying a large banner of ivy leaves, on which was inscribed, in letters of red clover, the following legend:—

Bean-Feast of Birds
from London and
the Suburbs.

"Fancy," said Maude, "all the birds of London Town come to Fairy-land for a change of air!"

"And why not?" asked a saucy Cock-sparrow. "We can't be always singing the same song, so we come here for a change of air, and of course when we get a change of air we return with new melodies. If you were to Reed your books properly you would know that the Pipes of our Organs—our vocal Organs—want tuning occasionally."

Then, without any warning, they all struck up a new song, and marvel of marvels, instead of merely singing like ordinary birds, they sang the words as well. But before giving you the lyric that they voiced so melodiously I must tell you the names of some of the birds they saw, and if you live in London or any large town you will perhaps know several of them by sight, as well as by cognomen. First in the throng were the Mistle-Thrushes and the song Thrushes; the Redwing and the Fieldfare, the Blackbird and the Redstart, and the Redbreast with faithful Jenny Wren; the large family of Titmouse and the merry Chiff-chaff, with his pleasant little song of "Chiff-chaff; chiff-chaff; chiv-chave." The humoursome Wagtails and that rare visitant the Waxwing, hopped along together, followed by the Swallows and the Martins, and a whole posse of Finches of various orders, particularly the Chaffinches who were joking with the Linnets.

Then came the noisy Starlings, the Magpies and the Sparrows chattering incessantly and evidently talking scandal. The sly Jackdaws and the Ravens looking as sleek as Sunday Sextons, but evidently plotting mischief, were also present, in close proximity to the Rooks and the Crows, who were well able to take care of their own caws. Afterwards came the Swifts and the Larks up to all sorts of games. A few Woodpeckers joined their feathered friends, and one Cuckoo was there, because Willie heard him, but he kept somewhere in the background as usual. Owls and Bats and Millards with Wigeons and Pigeons brought up the rear with a few Plovers, including the Lapwing. Jack Snipe came tumbling after in a hurry, with a stranger called the Whimbrel and a Puffin out of breath. There were other birds as well, but I don't think you would know them if I mentioned them. Maude and Willie did not, and they were quite authorities on ornithology, and perhaps you are not.

The Song of the Birds.

We are the birds of London Town,
Come out to take the air,
To change our coats of grey and brown,
And trim our feathers rare.

For London fogs so very black
Our tempers disarrange,
And so we skip with piping trip,
To have our yearly change.

Pee wit! Tu! whoo!
How do you do?
Tweet! tweet! chip! chip!
Chiff! chaff! chiff chay!
Weet wee! weet weet! sweet way!
Cuckoo!

We sing our songs in London Town,
To make the workers gay;
And seeds and crumbs they throw us down—
'Tis all we ask as pay.

We make them think of fields all green
And long-forgotten things;
Of far-off hopes and dreams a-sheen
And love with golden wings.

Pee wit! Tu! whoo!
How do you do?
Tweet! tweet! chip! chip!
Chiff! chaff! chiff chay!
Weet wee! weet weet! sweet way!
Cuckoo!

After this very entertaining song each bird stood on one leg, spread one wing, and joined partners for one of the prettiest dances you ever saw. It was called the Birds' Quadrille, and was so charmingly executed that even the flowers left their beds and borders to look on—the fairies peeping meanwhile from the buds to join in the general enjoyment. The voices of the flowers were lifted in gentle cadences to the rhythm of the feathered dancers' featly twists and turns.

How happy the children felt in this beautiful place with all Nature vieing to show her sweetest charms. And how rich and rare were the gems of foliage and tree and humble creeping plants. How easy to forget everything—but joy—in this fairy paradise that Fancy so deftly pictured for them! Could there be anything sad in Flower Land? They could not believe it possible, and yet when a tiny little fairy stepped from a cluster of wild flowers and sang them the song of the Lily and the Rose, diamond tears stole down the cheeks of the little lass and the little lad.

The Rose and the Lily.

A tender Rose, so pretty and sleek,
Loved a Lily pure and white;
And paid his court with breathings meek—
Watching o'er her day and night.
While the Lily bowed her virgin head,
The Rose his message sent;
The Lily clung to her lover red,
And gave her shy consent.

The Violets cooed, and the Hare-bells rang,
And the Jasmine shook with glee;
While the birds high in the branches sang,
"Forget not true to be."

Dear Flora came the wedding to see,—
The Cowslips had decked the bride,
The Red Rose trembled so nervously—
His blushes he could not hide.
The Daisies opened their wee white eyes,
The Pinks came down in rows;
"Forget-me-not!" the Lily cries,
"My own, my sweet Moss Rose!"

The Violets cooed, and the Hare-bells rang,
And the Jasmine shook with glee;
While the birds high in the branches sang,
"O may you happy be!"

The Flower-fairies were gathered there,
And every plant as well,
To attend the wedding of this pair
So sweet that no pen can tell.
But a cruel wind came sweeping by—
The Lily drooped and died....
Then the Red Rose gave one tearful sigh,
And joined his Lily bride.

The Violets wept, and the Hare-bells sobbed,
The Myrtle and Jasmine sighed;
The birds were hushed as their hearts all throbbed
At the death of the Rose's bride.

Before the children had time to grow too sorrowful, there was a fluttering in the air and a rushing among the plants and flowers as the Zankiwank bounded into their presence, cutting so many capers that they were glad they were not to have mutton for dinner, as certainly all the capers would be destroyed.

The Zankiwank was in very high spirits, and gleefully announced that the Court of the Fairies, with the Queen, was coming, as Sally who lived in somebody's alley had just informed him. Then he burst out singing to a tune, which I daresay you all know, the following foolish words:—

Of all the flowers that are so smart,
There's none like Daffydilly!
She'd be the darling of my heart,
But she has grown so silly!
There is no wild flower in the land
That's half so tame as Daisy;
To her I'd give my heart and hand,
But fear I'd drive her crazy!

And then there is the Cabbage Rose,
Also the China Aster;
But Buttercup with yellow nose
Would cause jealous disaster.
Forget-me-not, O Violet dear!
Primrose, you know my passion!
For all the plants afar—anear
I court in flowery fashion!

"Oh, please be serious!" cried Willie. "What is the matter with you, Mr Zankiwank?"

You will perceive that Willie and Maude were quite at home in their new surroundings, and nothing seemed to surprise them one whit, not even the unexpected which they constantly anticipated.

The Zankiwank only asked permission to send one more telegram to the Bletherwitch, and then he condescended to inform them that Queen Titania was about to pay a visit to the Flowers and the Birds, and sure enough, before he had done speaking, Titania arrived all the way from Athens, with a full train of fairies and elves, accompanied by a fairy band playing fairy music. Robin Goodfellow skipped in advance, while Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustard-seed attended on the lovely Queen.

"Indeed, indeed this must be a Midsummer Night's Dream!"

"Indeed and indeed then it is," mocked the impudent Robin Goodfellow. "The fairies are not dead yet; and they never will die while good little girls and boys, and poets with sweet imaginations, live. But quick, let not the Queen see you! Eat of these Fern Seeds and you will become invisible even to the fairies. They are special seeds of my own growing and warranted to last as long as I choose."

So Maude and Willie ate of the Fern Seeds and became invisible, even to the Zankiwank, who was dreadfully distressed and went about calling them by name. In a spirit of mischief Willie pinched his exceedingly thin legs, making him jump as high as an April rain-bow, and causing him to be called to order by the Court Usher.

"And now," said Titania, waving her wand and calling the Flowers and Birds to her Court, "let the Jackdaw sing his well-known War Song."

"If you please, your majesty, I have left the music at home and forgotten the words," pleaded the Jackdaw.

"Very well, then sing it without either or you shall not have a new coat until the Spring."

So the Jackdaw stepped forth and sang as below, while the Rook irreverently cleared his throat above for his friend, and cried "Caw! Caw!"

The Jackdaw's Jest.

If peaches grew on apple trees,
And frogs were made of glass;
And bulls and cows were turned to bees,
And rooks were made of grass;
If boys and girls were made of figs,
If figs were made of dates,
Upon the sands they'd dance like grigs
With bald and oval pates.

If mortals had got proper sense
And were not quite so mad;
Their mood would make them more intense,
To make each other glad:
If only they would understand
The things that no one knows,
They'd live like fairies in the land,
And never come to blows.

"That's a very nice War Song—it's so peaceful and soothing," spake the Queen. "And now call the Poets from Freeland. This is the time for them to renew their licences, though I greatly fear that they have been taking so many liberties of late that any licence I can give them will prove superfluous."

"Superfluous! Superfluous! That is a good word," muttered the Zankiwank. "I wonder what it means?" Whereupon he went and asked Robin Goodfellow and all the other Fairies, but as nobody knew, it did not matter, and the Poets arriving at that moment he thought of a number and sat on a toadstool.

Maude recognised several of the Poets who came to have their licences renewed—she had heard of "poetic licence" before, but never dreamed that one had to get the unwritten freedom from Fairyland. But so it was. Several of the Poets seemed to be exorbitant in their demands, and wanted to make their poems all licence, but this Titania would not consent to, so they went away singing, all in tune too, a little piece that Robin Goodfellow said was a Rondel:—

Life is but a mingled song,
Sung in divers keys;
Sweet and tender, brave and strong,
As the heart agrees.

Naught but love each maid will please
When emotions throng;
Life is but a mingled song,
Sung in divers keys.

Youth and age nor deem it wrong,
Sing with joyous ease,
That your days you may prolong
Freed from Care's decrees.
Life is but a mingled song
Sung in divers keys.

So on their way they went rejoicing—saying pretty things to the fairies, the flowers and the birds, for they are their best friends you know, and they love all Nature with a vast and all-embracing, all-enduring love.

One singer as he went along chanted half-sadly:—

To tell of other's joys the poet sings;
To tell of Love, its sweets and eke its pain;
The tenderest songs his magic fancy strings,
Of Love, perchance, that he may never gain.
Hearts may not break and passion may be weak,
But O the grief of Love that dare never speak!

A light-hearted bard then took up the cue and carolled these lines:—

There's so much prose in life that now and then,
A tender song of pity stirs the heart,
A simple lay of love from fevered pen,
Makes in some soul the unshed tear-drops start.
Sing, poets! sing for aye your sweetest strain,
For life without its poetry were vain!

Then they all sang together a song of May, although Queen Titania had declared that it was Midsummer. Perhaps her Midsummer lasts all the year round:—

When Winter's gone to rest,
And Spring is our dear guest;
The Merry May, at break of day,
Comes in gay garlands drest.
The brightest smiles she brings—
Of sweetest hopes she sings
And trips a-pace with dainty grace
And lightest fairy wings.

Joy is the song all Nature sighs,
Love is the light in maidens' eyes,
May is love alway:
The budding branch and nodding tree
Join in the revels and bow with glee
To greet the Virgin May.

While songsters choose and mate,
And woo their brides in state,
The youth and maid stroll through the glade
The birds to emulate!
Then comes the Queen of May,
To hold her court and sway,
While gallant blades salute the maids,
And whisper secrets gay.

Love is the song all Nature sighs,
While peace gleams in each maiden's eyes,
Youth is for joy alway!
The laughing rose and lily fair
Their fragrance shed upon the air,
As though 'twere ever May.

As the Poets went on their happy way, the last one to depart turned to where Maude was standing, and though he could not possibly see her, said gently:—

O grant you, little maiden, your thoughts be aye sincere,
Your dreams turn into actions,
Your pleasures know no sear:
Your life be flowers and sunshine,
Your days be free from tear.

How happy it made her! And what beautiful things these poets always thought of and said!

"Now, Peaseblossom and Mustard Seed, you may sing that little song that I made for you when we were floating up near the Moon, and then we shall soon have to depart as we have so many calls to make this Midsummer Night."

Neither Willie nor Maude could understand how it could be Midsummer Night, because Midsummer Day was such a long way off—quite six weeks, for this was only yet the month of May. But they did not say anything, because Robin Goodfellow was looking at them, and they knew they were invisible, because they could not even feel themselves—which is a curious sensation, when you come to think of it.

Now, this is the song that Peaseblossom and Mustard Seed sang together in unison—the fairies, led by Robin Good fellow, joining in the chorus:—

Will you walk into the Garden.

Will you walk into the garden?
Said the Poppy to the Rose,
Your tender heart don't harden,—
Do not elevate your nose.
For the Gilly-flower has sent us
All because of your perfume,
And the Box a case has lent us,
To make a little room.

So Rosey! Rosey! sweet little posy
Come to our garden fête,
And our little Cock-roaches will lend you their coaches,
So that you mayn't be late.

All the Waterblinks are waiting,
Just beneath the Dogwood's shade;
While the Teazle's loudly prating
To the Madder's little maid!
The old Cranberry grows tartish
All about a Goosefoot Corn,
But the Primrose, dressed quite smartish,
Will explain it's but a thorn.

So Rosey! Rosey! sweet little posy
Come to our garden fête;
Our naughty young nettles shall be on their fettles,
All stinging things to bate.

Now for tea there's Perrywinkles
And some Butterwort and Sedge,
House-leeks and Bird's-nest-binkles,
With some Sundew from the hedge,
There is Sorrel, Balsam, Mallow,
Some Milk Wort and Mare's Tail too,
With some Borage and some Sallow,
Figworts and Violets blue.

So Rosey! Rosey! sweet little posy,
Come to our garden fête,
And the Iris and Crocus shall sing us and joke us
Some humorous things sedate.

"That's all very well," exclaimed the Zankiwank. "Roses are always delightful, especially the Cabbage Roses, because you can eat them for breakfast, but every rose has its drawback.... Ho! and it's thorn," he added, dancing with pain, for at that moment several rose bushes he was passing by gave him a good pricking.

"Ah!" said Queen Titania, "that is not the way to look at the beautiful things of life. It is because the thorns have roses that we should be thankful, and not find fault because the roses have thorns."

"That is a sentiment that I can endorse—it is a true bill, and almost as good as one of my own," replied Robin Goodfellow saucily; "and now let us wander through the Florange grove and gather some Moranges and Lemons."

Neither Maude nor Willie had heard of Floranges or Moranges, and wondered what sort of fruit they could be, when their attention was drawn once more to Queen Titania and her court of fairies, who were all seated beneath the greenwood tree eating puddings and pies that Mustard Seed and Peaseblossom and Cobweb were making for them, chanting, as they cooked the pastry by the fire of their own eloquence, this doggerel:—

First you take a little orange,
And you squeeze out all the pips;
Then you add a crimson florange,
Which you cut up into chips.
Then you stir them in a porringe,
With your tiny finger tips;
And you have the finest morange
Ever known to mortal lips.

How Willie and Maude longed to taste a morange! The Zankiwank evidently enjoyed the one he had, for he said it tasted just like mango, ice cream, blackberries and plum tart all mixed up together, so that it must have been nice.

After the feast Titania said she must be going, as she felt certain that there were some invisible mortals present. She could hear them breathing! At this Robin Goodfellow grew nervous, and the children got frightened lest the Queen should discover and punish them for their temerity.

"Where Christmas pudding's bliss
'Tis folly to eat pies,"

cried Robin Goodfellow to divert attention and the fairies at the same time, but the Queen was not satisfied, and ordered a special dress train to carry them away again.

At this moment the two children tumbled off nothing into a vacant space, making the Zankiwank scream out—"It must be the Bletherwitch in the clutches of the Nargalnannacus." But it wasn't, and if it had not been for Robin Goodfellow's presence of mind, I am sure I do not know what would have happened. That lively rascal, however, guessing that he had used the wrong seeds, at once stepped forward, and taking Maude and Willie each by the hand, boldly presented them to Her Majesty as being favoured mortals who were friends of the Zankiwank, and so the Queen received them and asked them more questions than you could find in any school book. None of which they answered, because when they turned round the Queen and all her court had vanished, and only the Zankiwank was to be seen.

The Zankiwank took no notice of them whatever, and behaved just as though he could not see them. They called him by name without arousing his attention, for he was once more writing a telegram, only he did not know where to send it. In the distance Maude could hear the sound of voices, and she declared she could recognise the Queen singing, though Willie said it must have been her imagination because he could not. However, this is what Maude said she heard:—

Dear little maid, may joy be thine
As through your life you go;
Let Truth and Peace each act design,
That Hope turn not to woe.

Dream if you will in maiden prime,
But let each dream be true;
For idle hopes waste golden time,
That won't return to you.

In after years when ways divide,
And Love dispels each tear,
Know in some breast there will abide
A thought for you sincere.