A Fairy may be Good or Ill, A Godmother Morose or Gay; A Mother-in-law, say what you will, Is not immortal any way. But wouldn’t it a Bridegroom stun To think of all three rolled in one?
All day the envelope she scann’d. But though her royal name it bore, ’Twas in an Unfamiliar Hand. The Postmark puzzled her still more. The Princess could not understand Who’d write to her from----
She turned it Left, she turned it Right, She pinched it, shook it to and fro, She held it up against the Light, And topsy-turvy wise--but no, It still continued to preserve Its air of Self-contained Reserve.
One day the Princess in a Pet, It was her Last, her only hope, Summoned her Trusty Cabinet, To Sit upon the Envelope, And at no matter what expense, To end her Terrible Suspense.
But all their Learnéd Consultations Ended in Nought, for what avail @Mere Man’s@ Unerring Calculations Where WOMAN’S Intuitions fail? Their Weighty Brains refused to cope With that Unyielding Envelope.
She put the matter in the Hands Of the Police; she went to see Astrologers from Foreign Lands And experts in Chirography; And offered Large Rewards to all Who furnished Clues, however small.
But no one came for the Reward, Nor would the Envelope betray The Secret in its bosom stored, When by the Merest Chance one day She overheard a Child, who cried, “_If it were mine, I’d look inside_.”
Tossing the Tot a Thousand Pounds, The Princess to her Chamber sped; Her Joy and Rapture knew no bounds; She tore the Envelope and read
A note from god-mamma, to say, _She might expect her any day_.
One day as Cinderella ate Her Simple Lunch of sixteen courses, A Golden Coach drove up in state, Drawn by a team of Mouse-Grey horses, And on the carriage door were scrolled The Letters F. G. M., in gold.
The Princess dropped a Jelly Roll, Which tipped with Pink her Crystal Shoe, And cried, “O my prophetic soul! _My God_-mamma! What shall I do?” Then, Ladylike, she cut the knot By simply fainting on the spot.
Strong Fairy Salts soon brought her to. She looked up in a startled way. “Why, God-mamma--can that be you? How sweet! I _hope_ you’ve come to stay. The Prince will simply be enchanted.” “Your Wish,” quoth God-mamma, “is granted.”
True to her word, the Fairy soon Was quite at home. The royal Attic She turned into a Grand Saloon, Where with her cats she reigned ecstatic. “Henceforth,” said she, “I’ll live at leisure, And only work my Spells for pleasure.”