waters. Their beloved queen is all-powerful in
her dominions; she directs the course of the
waters, she moderates the violence of the
winds, and she commands the river to spare
the lives and the property of those dwelling on
the banks, and compels it to cast safely ashore
those who may have been overwhelmed in its
torrent.

It is said that one day, tired of the homage
of her subjects and of her solitary grandeur,
she fled from her court, and landing on the
island of Notre-Dame, she seated herself on
the shore by a tuft of pink heather. A young
sailor, studying navigation, and only waiting
till the weather should permit his vessel to put
to sea, spied the fairy land, and, amazed at the
sight of such grace and loveliness, he, hiding
behind a rock, remained in mute and delighted
contemplation.

The queen, believing herself to be alone,
took off her royal mantle, and resting her head
on a tuft of soft grass, she fell into a profound
slumber. The young man, gently stealing from
his hiding-place, came and knelt beside her,
respectfully waiting her awaking.

The fairies, missing her, sought her in all
directions, till, at last, seeing her boat moored by
the isle, they proceeded thither, and finding a
stranger thus close to their mistress, they seized
and were about to throw him into the river,
when the queen, awaking, ordered them to
retire.

The young man, falling at her feet, entreated
to be told who was his enchanting preserver.

The queen, lifting her voice into a soft and
delicious melody, chanted the following words:

What I am thou canst not know,
Thy feeble mind cannot conceive of my state.
What I am no mortal can be;
After thy God I have full power over thee.
I am to thee that perfumed flower
Which the zephyr loves silently to kiss;
I am that flickering light
Which on these shores appears at midnight.

Now on the dungeon, in a vapour grey,
I appear to mortals;
Now in the corner of the evening hearth
My voice sighs or sings softly.
Sometimes I am the tender dew
Which in the morning veils the grass,
And I am the liquid pearl
Which in spring eves glitters on the young wheat.

The bubble which evaporates in the air
And indicates thy lot I send forth,
The cave of the winds, the land of the night and of
the morning
Behold me the same day.
I am the finch, the light swallow,
The sparrow, the winged guest of the valley,
The nightingale, the gauzy fly,
The wren, the agile gnat.

Seest thou at evening, roaming on the cliffs,
A shadow, black or white by turns,
A wandering marsh-fire, a blazing light,
Which puts the love-songs of the heart to silence?
I am a voice, the echo of your mountains,
The orb of day, the dull sound of the torrent,
The flower of the woods, the spirit of the fields,
The winged singer, singing of death.

At night I am the freezing breeze
That visits the yews, a messenger of death.
I am in the golden robe, the ring of the betrothed,
The child that laughs and weeps and sleeps.
Mortal! I am the griefs of life,
The good, the evil, the hope of your bright days,
The rainbow harmoniously brilliant,
The voice of God that is for ever and for ever.

I am in the raging sea,
I love the winds. The terror of the sailor,
The black ship at the dark watch
Holds me on her deck, and I command the waves.
Then my voice surmounts the voice of the tempest,
I am life to Satan, heaven-banished!
I am the voice of the evening, the joy of feasts,
The murmur of the great sea, telling of infinity!

A day will come when to the bottom of the abyss
Thou wilt descend, following the course of the great
river.
Weak mortal! thou wilt be the victim
Of the foolish pride which will cut off thy days.
Then thy soul, quitting the clay
Which the great God made to enclose it,
Will form the shooting star,
Leaving behind the earthy tenement.

That which I am will one day cease to be to thee a
mystery:
Thou wilt know my secret, thou wilt know my
power,
But until the day marked for thee to quit the earth,
No mortal can conceive me.

Her song finished, the queen made a sign of
adieu to the sailor. She called to her subjects,
who, placing on her shoulders her royal mantle
studded with Oriental pearls, and leading up a
coach harnessed with bright-winged butterflies,
the band floated up above the mists of the river,
and disappeared in the ethereal regions.

NEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS,

In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
"Pickwick," "Copperfield," &c.

Now publishing, PART III., price 1s., of

OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

IN TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.

With Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.

London: CHAPMAN and HALL, 193, Piccadilly.

On the 15th of August will be published, bound in green
cloth, price 5s. 6d.,

THE ELEVENTH VOLUME.

Handsomely bound in red, price 3l.,

THE FIRST TEN VOLUMES,

WITH GENERAL INDEX.

Covers for binding may be had, green, prlce 1s. each;
red, price 1s. 6d. each.