From one corner of Ribbleton Moor, the scene of Cromwell's victory
over Langdale, there is as lovely a view as ever painter dreamed of.
Far below the spectator the Ribble sweeps almost in a circle beneath
the scars which, by the action of years of this washing, have been
scooped out so as to form a large precipice, under which the waters
flow, marking out in their course the great 'horse-shoe meadow,' with
its fringe of shining sand. The peaceful valley through which the
river, reflecting in its moving bosom the overhanging many-tinted
woods and cliffs, meanders on its way to the sea, is bounded afar-off
by noble hills, the whale-like Pendle towering in majestic grandeur
above the rest. From the moor a rough and stony lane winds down the
wooded hillside, past a beautiful old half-timbered house down to the
dusty highway and the bridge over the Belisamia of the Romans. The
beautiful river, with its tremulous earth and sky pictures, the
meadows and corn-fields whence come now and again the laugh and song
of the red-faced mowers and reapers, the clearly-defined roads and
white farm-houses, the spires of distant hillside churches, and the
rich green of the waving woods, make up an enchanting picture. When
night comes, however, and the lovely stars peep out, and the crescent
moon casts her glamour over the dreaming earth, and half-hidden in a
dimly transparent veil of shimmering mist the Ribble glides as gently
as though it had paused to listen to its own melody, a still deeper
loveliness falls upon the dreaming landscape, over which the very
genius of beauty seems to hover silently with outspread wings.
At such a time, when moon and stars threw a faint and mysterious light
over the sleeping woods, and not a sound, save the cry of a restless
bird, broke the silence, a young countryman made his way rapidly
across the horse-shoe meadow to the bend of the stream under Red
Scar.
It was not to admire the beautiful scenery, however, that Reuben
Oswaldwistle was crossing the dew-besprinkled field, over which faint
odours of hay were wafted by a gentle breeze. The sturdy young fellow
was too practical to yield entirely to such an influence, and although
he was by no means unlearned in the traditions and stories of the
neighbourhood, long familiarity had taught him to look upon the
landscape with the eye of a farmer. He was simply about to practise
the gentle art in the hope of beguiling a few stray 'snigs' for dinner
on the following day. Still the scene in all its glamour of moonlight
and peace was not powerless even upon his rude nature; so, after
setting his lines, he took out a little black pipe, filled it from a
capacious moleskin pouch, and after lighting the fragrant weed, gave
way to a train of disconnected fancies--past, present, and future
mingling strangely in his reverie.
What with the rustling of the leaves overhead, the musical rippling of
the river as it danced over the stones on its way to the sea, and the
soothing effect of the tobacco, Reuben was beginning to doze, when
suddenly he fancied he heard the sound of a light footstep in the
grass behind him. Turning round somewhat drowsily, he beheld a little
figure of about a span high, clad in green, and wearing a dainty red
cap, struggling along under the load of a flat-topped mushroom much
larger than itself. After having more than once fallen with its load,
the dwarf cried out in a sweet, faint voice, 'Dewdrop, Dewdrop!' and
no sooner had the sound died into silence than another little fellow,
who evidently answered to the pretty name, came tripping from the
shadow of a hawthorn.
'What's the matter, Moonbeam?' said the new-comer, cheerily.
'This table is too much for me,' answered the labourer whom Reuben had
seen first, 'and if the king's dinner is not ready to a minute he will
have me stung. Help me with this load, there's a good sort.'
Without any more ado Dewdrop came forward and the tiny pair put their
shoulders beneath the load and marched off. They did not bear it very
far, however, for the astonished Reuben simply stretched himself at
full length on the grass and again was quite close to them.
The two dots stopped when they came to a hole, into which they at once
stuck the stem of the mushroom. Moonbeam then took from his pocket a
butterfly's wing, which served him as a handkerchief, and wiping his
forehead as he spoke, he said:--
'I'm about tired of this. Every night the table is stolen, Dewdrop,
and I've to find a new one for each dinner, and no thanks for it
either. What has come of late over the king I am at a loss to imagine,
for he has done nothing but have me stung. I shall emigrate if this
continues, that's all.'
'So would I,' answered the other little fellow, 'if Blue-eyes would go
also, but I can't leave her.'
After a hearty peal of laughter, during which he had held his shaking
sides, Moonbeam shouted--
'Why, my dear innocent, if you went she would be after you in a trice.
I remember that when I was as guileless as you I fell in love with
Ravenhair, the daughter of old Pigear. She treated me just as
Blue-eyes uses you, but when, in a fit of jealous rage, I began to pay
delicate attentions to Jasmine, the tables soon were turned, and one
evening, as I was dozing in a flower cup, I heard some one call me,
and peeping out of my chamber, I saw the once scornful Ravenhair
weeping at the foot of the stalk. No sooner did she catch a glimpse of
the tip of my nightcap than in piteous tones, that went straight to my
heart, she cried out, "Dearest Moony, let me come up and"--. But,
hush! wasn't that the dinner gong?'
The pair listened intently as over the grass came the solemn hum of a
bee.
'I'm in for it,' said the fairy whose tale had been so suddenly
interrupted; 'there's the first bell, and I haven't got even the table
set.'
The pair darted off, and tripping away into the shade of the hawthorn,
they were for a moment or two lost to the sight of the wondering
Reuben, but they soon returned, each bearing a dish and cover made of
a little pearl shell. These they placed upon the mushroom, and away
they scudded, again to return in a minute with another load. In an
incredibly short space of time the table was set out with a goodly
array of tiny dishes and plates.
Once more the hum of the bee was heard booming over the grass, and
from the shadow of the tree there emerged a dainty being whose attire
glittered in the moonlight, and whose step was like that of a proud
monarch. He was clad in a many-hued coat made of wings of dragon
flies, a green vest cut from a downy mouse-ear leaf, and with buttons
of buttercup buds; little knee-breeches of fine-spun silk dyed in the
juice of a whinberry, stockings of cobweb, and shoes of shining beetle
case; his shirt, which was as white as falling snow, had been cut from
convolvulus flowers ere they had opened to the light; and his hat, a
gem of a thing fit only for a fairy, was of red poppy, with a waving
white feather, and a band of fur from a caterpillar. He led by the
hand another personage, equally daintily dressed, but of a higher
order of loveliness, with a pale oval face, and dreamy-looking eyes,
gleaming like the sea when the moon and stars are bending over its
bosom, and the wind is whispering its sad secrets. Her hair was
golden, and rippled almost to her exquisite feet, and over it she wore
a blue cornflower wreath, with diamond dewdrops here and there amid
the leaves. Her dress was of damask rose leaves looped up with
myosotis.
The grass hardly bent beneath her, so daintily did she trip along,
just touching the tips of the fingers of the hand the king extended
to her. Following this royal pair came a group of gaily-clad
attendants, and a band discoursing sweet sounds, the deep bass of bees
harmonising happily with the barytone of a beetle and the crescendo
chirp of a cricket.
With a loud flourish from the musicians all took their places at the
festive mushroom, and the banquet began. The dishes were sufficiently
various to tempt even an anchorite to excess, for all the delicacies
of the season were there. Ladybird soup, baked stickleback, roasted
leg of nightingale, boiled shoulder of frog with cranberry sauce, wild
strawberry tarts, and numerous kinds of fruits and juices, made up a
dainty repast, of which king, queen, and courtiers partook heartily.
The band, the members of which were perched in the swinging flowers of
a foxglove close by, played lustily during the feast.
'For once,' said the king, 'for once--and let the circumstance be
remembered when the annals of our reign are written--a day hath passed
without anything having annoyed our royal self, without anything
unpleasant having happened in our royal presence, and without
anything having disagreed with our royal stomach.'
No sooner had these words passed the royal lips, however, than the
queen gave a faint shriek, and cried out--
'My love, there is not a drop of my chickweed wine on the table.'