rain did not visit the world too roughly else 

 the fairy craft had been vain. It wrought 

 too delicately for mortal eyes. You would 

 never have known of it but for the generous 

 mist that has delighted to embroider it in 

 royal fashion. 



Here is a web fit to robe the fairy queen 

 herself. There, one scarce the bigness of 

 your hollowed palm. Ropes of pearls run 

 all about now athwart the path, now from 

 some twig of vantage, else dropping from 

 point to point of the hedge -row's thorny 

 tangle. 



Close and low at its root you see a silk- 

 wrought tube, whose clinging meshes have 

 trapped a big bumble-bee. Poor, merry, 

 clumsy fellow ! All his bravery of gold- 

 powdering, his bravado of humming, could 

 not save him from the cunning snare, where 

 now he lies coffined. Surely, though, the 

 mist loved him well. See what jewels, more 

 than royal, gleam over the fatal web. A 

 prince of the air, he will have truly royal 

 sepulture. 



Something falls faintly against your cheek 

 a floating filament fast to a twig a dozen 

 yards away. There are hundreds thou- 

 sands more awave in the humid air. Were 

 they spun in mere wantonness, or do they 



