The pretty works of my fairy and his companions in mischief are seen
on every hand from spring until winter, but few of us have ever seen
the fay, for Puck is no myth nor Ariel a creature of the poet's fancy.
Their prototype existed in entomological entity and demoralizing
mischievousness ages before the traditional fay, in diminutive human
form, had been dreamed of. The quaint, bow-legged little "brownies,"
which have brought our entire land beneath the witching spell of their
drollery, can scarce claim prestige in the ingenuity of their
mischief, nor can the droll doings of imps and elves chronicled in the
folk-lore of many an ancient people begin to match the actual doings
of the real, live, busy little fairy whose works abound in meadow,
wood, and copse, and which any of us may discover if we can once be
brought to realize that our imp is visible. Then we must not forget
that ideal type of the true "fairy"--a paragon of beauty and goodness,
with golden hair and dazzling crown of brilliants, with her airy
costume of gossamer begemmed and spangled, her dainty, twinkling feet
and gorgeously painted butterfly wings. And we all remember that
wonderful wand which she carried so gracefully, and whose simple touch
could evoke such a train of surprising consequences.
And who shall say that our pretty fay is a myth, or her magic wand a
wild creation of the fancy? May we not see the wonder-workings of that
potent wand on every hand, even though our fairy has eluded us while
she cast the spell? There are a host of these wee fairies continually
flitting about among the trees plotting all sorts of mischief and
leaving an astonishing witness of their visitation in their trail as
they pass from leaf to leaf or twig to twig. But these fairies, like
those of Grimm and Laboulaye, are agile little atoms, and are not to
be caught in their pranks if they know it, and even though our eye
chanced to rest on one of them, it is doubtful whether we would
recognize him, so different is the guise of these _real_ fairies from
those invented creatures of the books. Once, when a mere boy, I caught
one of the little imps at work, and watched her for several minutes
without dreaming that I had been looking at a real fairy all this
time. What did I see? I was sitting in a clearing, partly in the shade
of a sapling growth of oak which sprang from the trunk of a felled
tree. While thus half reclining I noticed a diminutive, black,
wasp-like insect upon one of the oak leaves close to my face.
The insect seemed almost stationary, and not inclined to resent my
intrusion, so I observed her closely. I soon discovered that she was
inserting her sting into the midstem of the leaf, or perhaps
withdrawing it therefrom, for in a few moments the midge flew away. I
remember wondering what the insect was trying to do, and not until
years later did I realize that I had been witnessing the secret arts
of the magician of the insect world--a very Puck or Ariel, as I have
said--a fairy with a magic wand which any sprite in elfindom might
covet.
The wand of Herrmann never wrought such a wonder as did this magic
touch of the little black fly upon the oak leaf. Had I chanced to
visit the spot a few weeks later, what a beautiful red-cheeked apple
could I have plucked from that hemstitched leaf!
This was but one of a veritable swarm of mischief-making midges
everywhere flitting among the trees; and while they are quite as
various in their shapes as the traditional forms of fairies--the
ouphes and imps, the gnomes and elves of quaintest mien, as well as
the dainty fays and sylphs and sprites--there is one feature common to
them all which annihilates the ideal of all the pictorial authorities
on fairydom. Neither Grimm, nor Laboulaye, nor any of the masters of
fairy-lore, seems to have discovered that a fairy has no right to
those butterfly wings which the pages of books show us. Those of the
real fairy are quite different, being narrow and glassy, and bear the
magician's peculiar sign in their crisscross veins.
What a world of mischief is going on here in the fields! Here is one
of the witching sprites among the drooping blossoms of the oak. "You
would fain be an acorn," she says, as she pierces the tender blossoms
with her wand, "but I charge thee bring forth a string of currants;"
and immediately the blossoms begin to obey the behest, and erelong a
mimic string of currants droops upon the stem. Upon another tender
branch near by a jet-black, gauze-winged elf is casting a similar
spell, which is this time followed by a tiny, downy, pink-cheeked
peach. And here alights a tiny sprite, whose magic touch evokes even
from the _same_ leaf a cherry, or a coral bead, perhaps a huge green
apple! How many of us have seen the little elf that spends her life
among the tangles of creeping cinque-foil, and decks its stems with
those brilliant scarlet beads which we may always find upon them,
looking verily like tempting berries.
We see here about us swarms of these busy elves in obedience to their
own peculiar mischievous promptings. What whispers this glittering
midge to the oak twig here to which she clings so closely? We may not
guess; but if we pass this way a month or so hence, what a beautiful
response in the glistening, rosy-clouded sponge which encircles the
stem! "But this sponge is not pretty enough by half," exclaims a rival
fairy. "Wait until you see what yonder sweetbrier rose will do for
_me_." Hovering thither among its thorns, she imparts her spell, and,
lo! within a month the stem is clothed in emerald fringe, which grows
apace, until it has become a dense pompon of deep crimson--a sponge
worthy the toilet of the fairy queen herself!
Who shall still say that the fairy is a myth!
These two fairy sponges are familiar to us all, at least to those of
us who dwell for even a small part of the year in the country, and use
our eyes. Indeed, we need go no farther than our city parks, or even
our "back-yard" gardens, to find at least one of them, for the
sweetbrier is rarely neglected by this particular fairy.
So many specimens of both of these sponges have been sent to me by
"Round Table" correspondents and others that I have begun to wonder
how many of those other young people who have seen them and kept
silence have wondered at their secret.
The two fairies which are responsible for these sponges have been
captured by the inquisitive scientist, and have had their portraits
taken for the rogues' gallery, and now we see them stuck upon tiny
little three-cornered pieces of paper, and pinned in the specimen case
as mere _insects_--gall-flies. The one is labelled _Cynips seminator_,
the other, _Cynips rosae_.
[Illustration: A. One of the points detached.
B. Section of the base.