g that this comedy was about to be enacted, there reclined
under the celebrated oak, known as Herne's Oak, in a small clear space
between some ferns, two of those beings called fairies who had for time
immemorial taken up their quarters in that delightful retreat. Whether
they were man and wife is not established, but certainly they were male
and female; and as they appeared to be on the very best understanding,
it is to be presumed that they were not married.

"Elda, there will be a scene to-night at the castle," said the male to
the female sprite, as he tickled her nose with a blade of grass.

"Yes, Maya; how foolish those mortals are!"

"I have a mind to create even more mischief," rejoined Maya, "but if I
did, you would want to see it."

"Well, and suppose I did, dearest?"

"I do not like that you should be in company with those women, Elda;
those duchesses and countesses."

"Bless me, Maya!--what are you afraid of? my virtue?"

"Oh no, dearest! I did not mean that----"

"Then I'll tell you what you did mean, you jealous-pated fool: you
meant, that you did not like that I should be in the company of the Earl
of Rochester and the King. You ought to have more respect for yourself,
and more respect for me, than to be jealous of those mortals."

"Nay, Elda!"

"Yes, yes, and your reason for wanting to go alone, is to hang over that
nasty Duchess of Portsmouth."

"Upon my honour!--"

"Your honour, sir!--you have none--there, sir, you may go."

"Oh, very well, madam; just as you please."

Certainly there was something very mortal in this quarrel, and may
remind the reader of similar scenes in domestic life.

It ended by Maya walking sulkily away in the direction of the castle,
and of Elda following him at a distance, determined to watch his
motions.

But if these two lovers had quarrelled, there were two other beings who
were indulging in a moonlight walk on the terrace, linked arm-in-arm so
affectionately, so fondly, keeping exact pace for pace, and occasionally
embracing each other, every one would have thought that nothing in the
world could ever have disunited them. They were two young ladies of the
court, aged about seventeen, just clear of their governess and
bread-and-butter, and newly-appointed maids of honour: they were both
beautiful, and had contracted a friendship, as all girls do at that age,
when love has with them no precise definition. They had sworn eternal
affection after an acquaintan