Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 137.djvu/493

Thus a musical fairy is giving a singing lesson to a number of small birds, but happily without having induced them to abandon their natural notes. And two pictures commemorate a practice of the fairies of combing and dressing the goats' beards on Saturday night, to make them smart for Sunday. The ceremony, or assignation, takes place on a hillside – partly bright with sunset, partly darkened with the shadow of approaching night. The sylph beauties – possessing, let us hope, only an imperfect sense of smell – devote themselves with a will to their task, – combing, twining, and plaiting the tufted chins; while the billygoats submit with good grace to the fascinating barbers, except one restive Capricorn who gallops away, and another that from behind a rock peeps furtively at his hairdresser, who beckons him with cajoling finger. This subject (as we told the artist) ought to have been treated by Herkomer. However, as a rule, they make no pretence to benevolence, but rather the contrary. Thus a number of them, as if the agents of an Imperial Chancellor, are egging on two frogs to fight, by taunts and suggestions of good grounds for quarrel, as wounded honour and so forth. Another mocks and gibes at a large toad, whose profoundly meditative and sedentary aspect precludes all idea of possible provocation. For some reason the lesser amphibia are not esteemed in elfland, and when not objects of hostility are exposed to practical jokes. No elf can pass a frog without jeering at him, or, if coming on him from behind, using him for the purpose of giving a back – a practice which explains the name of a popular game. The cause of this ill-feeling is to be found in one of the largest pictures, the "Battle of Elves and Frogs." At some remote, even prehistoric, period, a casus belli arose between the two peoples; perhaps a frog ambassador had been disrespectful to Oberon – or the elves may have wished to establish a stable government in some distant and populous swamp: anyhow, war alone could decide the matter. The elves took up a strong position on a rising ground, at the foot of which was a natural moat, in the shape of a reedy pond. And here we see how the rules of war are subject to change under novel circumstances. In ordinary cases a bridge would have been necessary in order to approach the position. But the gallant frogs, flinging themselves boldly into one of their native elements, have crossed the obstacle and scaled the heights. Some of the most forward spirits of the amphibious army have forced their way up to the very mound where the elf-king and leader has stationed himself, like Harold at Hastings, and have even turned his flank. But the sprites, in loose formation, have met the enemy, some of whom, their retreat accelerated by panic, are already describing wonderful parabolas in the air on their way to the pond. In the centre of the picture, a speckled champion is receiving full in his yellow stomach the thrust of a spear of grass. A frog's countenance would not seem to lend itself to much play of feature, but his is not inexpressive of anguish. As in a medieval battle, prisoners are led away on both sides. The captive frogs were apparently held to ransom, but the goblins are placed hors de combat by being dropped into the pond. The frog general is slyly represented as keeping well out of the battle on the opposite shore, attended by an obsequious staff. No doubt the