THE DUEL OF THE DORMICE.

Out in the fields, in the hollow of an old willow-tree, two Dormice slept the whole winter long. They neither ate nor drank, nor did they so much as raise their heads from their pillows during all this dreary time. A ray of sunshine, as the sun pa.s.sed right over their tree, would perhaps make one of them stretch out his paws; but as soon as the gleam had pa.s.sed and left them, he would curl himself up all the closer in his nest, and go faster asleep than ever.

But the sun came one bright spring morning, and shone on the Dormice so warmly, that they turned round in their bed, stretched their paws, rubbed their eyes, yawned, and at last woke quite up.

"It is summer-time at last," said the elder Dormouse, as he took a nut from his store of provisions and cracked it, "and we may now leave our winter's bed." "I don't believe it,"

replied the younger. "The wind blows cold; I shall go to sleep again."

"Ah, that's like your laziness," rejoined the elder; "sleep on; I'm off to the wood." And so saying, he scrambled up the tree, then down the outside of the trunk, and so into the wide meadows.

The younger Dormouse went to sleep. He slept for an hour, then he woke again, and finding his companion gone, he turned to the food and ate a hearty meal; then he slept again, but the sun had made his bed too hot: so he presently woke and made another attack on the provisions; and this he did the whole day long, until, at evening time, all the corn and nuts which the two Dormice had so diligently collected in the autumn, were gone. Soon the moon rose, and the young one curled himself for sleep.

In the meantime the elder had wandered about the fields; but the earth was wet, and no corn or fruit was ripe, so at night he returned to his nest wet and hungry. He ran straight to the store-room for food; but what was his surprise when he found nothing left but a few barley-corns!

His cries woke his companion, from whom he demanded the provisions; the younger one muttered that he knew nothing about them, and pretended to sleep; but the unfortunate adventurer, driven to desperation by hunger, flew into a rage and struck the other with his claws: a fight ensued, and the whole neighbourhood was alarmed at the outcry.

Two Moles who were pa.s.sing by the foot of the tree, hearing this dreadful noise, called out to the combatants to stop.

The Dormice fearing it might be some of the Weasels who spoke, were silent instantly, and then the Moles bade them come out.

So the Dormice came down to the Moles; and when the Moles found that the silly creatures were bent on their quarrel, they insisted that the combat should be with swords.

Moreover, they offered to play the part of seconds, and to dig a grave for the vanquished.

To all this the Dormice consented; the Moles found an old trap, and from the iron parts they fashioned rude swords.

These they measured, and gave to the combatants; and then, with their long spades in their hands, they awaited the issue of the affray. It was fierce and desperate. The hungry one fought with fury, but he who had had a good feast was the stronger and the calmer: at last the younger one drove his sword right through the body of the elder; but the elder at the same moment clove his opponent's head asunder, and so they fell dead together. And the Moles dug a deep hole, and buried both the Dormice in the same grave.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE KITTENS AT TEA--MISS PAULINA SINGING.]

THE SIX KITTENS.

Once upon a time a cat had six kittens, whom she brought up in the most genteel manner. No one could say that their education was in any wise neglected, for besides being taught the ordinary duties of life by their mother, such as mouse-hunting, fish-stealing, and bird-catching, they received instructions in the arts of singing, and playing the harp and the piano, and were taught to waltz and dance the polka with every imaginable grace. Now when the kittens grew to be of age, it was their custom of an afternoon to spend some hours at tea and intellectual talk. The youngest always performed the duties of servant, while one of the elder ones would entertain the rest by playing airs from the latest opera, or singing a love-song, the music of which she had herself composed.

It is true some animals who dwelt close by complained of this music, and called it by all kinds of ill names; but that is ever the jealous way of the world: and the kittens frequently performed serenades in their garden by moonlight, when all who pa.s.sed by would stay to listen to their melody.

But to our tale. It happened that, one fine summer's afternoon, when the kittens were all enjoying themselves at tea; when Paulina, the eldest, was warbling some of her most delightful songs, and Violet, the second, was entertaining the rest, in an under tone, with a little bit of scandal about a neighbouring Tabby, whom she had seen coming home in a sad condition about five o'clock in the morning, when she, Miss Violet, was taking her early walk;--just at this moment there sounded a tap at the door, and presently in came Diana, the youngest sister, bearing in her hand more cakes for tea, and in the plate with them a note addressed to Miss Rose,--the next to Violet in age, and by most people considered the beauty of the family. Violet took the letter eagerly from Diana; but when she saw the address, she remarked that it was evidently a gentleman's handwriting, and tossing her head somewhat disdainfully, she handed it to Miss Rose, who blushed very much, and retired with it to the sofa. Rose opened the note with trembling paws, and a sweet smile played on her features as she read its contents; then, carefully folding it up, she observed to her sisters that it was merely an invitation for a walk, and springing on to the back of the sofa, she jumped through the open window, and retired to her own summer-house up a fine sycamore-tree in the garden.

This incident, as may be imagined, caused a great sensation among the sisters; and all wondered very much who could have been the writer of the note that had so evidently pleased Miss Rose. One hoped it was not from that scapegrace Tom who lived at the Farm-yard; another feared it might come from young Marten Sable of the Forest; and Violet demanded of her youngest sister what sort of person it was who had brought the note. Diana did not know, but believed it was a relation of old Mr. Weasel, who belonged to the same farm that Tom did. This set them all guessing again, for it was well known that Tom and Old Weasel did not speak to each other: and in the end they were all just as wise as in the beginning.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ENSIGN SQUEAKER AND MISS ROSE.]

About seven o'clock the same evening an attentive observer might have noticed Miss Rose emerging from her door very quietly, and making the best of her way to the green fields that bordered the sea-coast close by. An ill-natured person would have said that Miss Rose had taken especial pains with her toilet, and that she carried her parasol with a lack-a-daisical air; but Rose herself, at her last peep in the gla.s.s, had thought that she looked very nicely indeed; and so it would appear thought Ensign Squeaker (of the Household Pigade), who, with his regimental sword by his side, and his pocket telescope in his hand, sauntered along the pathway, _merely_ to enjoy the beauty of the evening, and inhale the fresh breezes from the ocean. How it happened that Young Squeaker and Miss Rose met at the corner of the cliff, just as the village clock struck the half-past seven, no one knows; certain only it is that they did meet; and that after the interchange of the usual compliments, Miss Rose accepted Mr. Squeaker's proffered arm, and that the pair wandered about by the sea-sh.o.r.e until the moon rose; and Miss Rose, in great trepidation at finding it so late, desired her companion to escort her home. Nor is it known what Mr. Squeaker said when he bade a fond adieu to his dear Rose, nor for how long after Rose sat in her arbour in the garden and watched the bats flitting across the moon.

It was noticed by the sisters that Rose was very quiet all the next day, and that at times a tear stood in the corner of her eye, which she would wipe away, sighing. Many were the sly allusions to the note of the previous afternoon and the long evening walk, and no one tormented poor Rose with her insinuations more than Paulina, who was for some cause in a most unusual flow of spirits. After tea, Rose took down her treasured volume, "p.u.s.s.icat's Poems," and retiring to the garden, read the tenderest parts. Violet, overcome with the fatigue of a recent mouse-hunt, went to sleep on the sofa; the younger ones busied themselves with their crochet and net-work; and Miss Paulina, saying she was going to call on a neighbour, with her best lace-bordered handkerchief in her hand, sallied forth and took her way towards the forest.

Now it so happened that young Marten Sable was leaning against a tree, tapping his heel with his cane, and meditating very profoundly at the entrance of the very walk towards which Paulina bent her steps. He started at her approach, and with a sad but eager countenance ran to meet her.

"What has happened, Marten," cried Paulina, "that you look so miserable? tell me directly, I implore you;" and placing her hand on his arm, she looked piteously in his face.

Marten hung his head and seemed overcome with grief; at last he said in a low husky voice, "We must part, Paulina; but it will be only for a time; my father has ordered me to set out for Russia to visit his forests there, and, my darling Paulina,--how can I bear the thought!--it will be six months before I see you again." Paulina covered her face with her paws and wept bitterly; at last rousing herself, she said, "Let us not, Marten, spend our last evening thus; come, six months will soon pa.s.s, and then--" Here Paulina's voice dropped, and Marten threw his arms round her waist and kissed away the tears.

[Ill.u.s.tration: YOUNG MARTEN BIDDING FAREWELL TO MISS PAULINA.]

We know of every word that Marten said to Paulina, and of Paulina's every reply, for we had it all from a young hedgehog whose curiosity led her to listen to their talk; but we think that the hedgehog did wrong to listen, and so, perhaps, did we to listen to the hedgehog, and so we will not tell their secrets; but this, we may mention, that they wandered up and down the pathways of the forest, now and then pouncing on a stray field-mouse or a poor sleeping bird, until the moon shone brightly through the trees. And we know that they parted at length by the sign-post at the edge of the wood, when Paulina shed many tears, and Marten, laying his paw upon his heart, vowed ever to be constant to her, and in all his travels and all his adventures to remember his sweet p.u.s.s.y. To have seen how the poor kitten wept when she went to bed that night, would have grieved a hard-hearted terrier; and to have seen how melancholy she looked as she wandered about for three weeks afterwards, would have drawn pity from a ferocious bull-dog.

One morning, about seven months after the events we have narrated, there was a great commotion in the house where the kittens dwelt; the bells rang, the flags were hoisted, and little cannon fired. In the papers of the next morning we read that Ensign Squeaker of the Household Pigade carried off the beautiful Miss Rose, and young Marten Sable of the Forest his fair prize Miss Paulina, both on the same day.

May they all enjoy much felicity, and may the brides catch plenty of mice!

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE FROGS WHO WOULD A-WOOING GO.]

THE

FROGS WHO WOULD A-WOOING GO.

Two frogs, who were cousins, were hopping about together one warm summer's evening by the side of a rivulet, when they began talking--just as the men will talk--about a young lady-frog who lived in a neighbouring marsh. One extolled the brightness of her eyes, the other praised the beauty of her complexion, and somehow the two frogs found out that they had both fallen in love with the same young lady-froggy. When they had made this discovery they parted rather abruptly, and muttered something, the meaning of which was not very clear.

"Bless me," said Mr. Croaker, the elder and richer of the two, "I must not let that young scapegrace Jumper get the better of me. A pretty joke indeed that _he_ should think of the beautiful Miss Leapfrog, he who is not worth a rap, and is as ugly as a toad."

"Who would have thought," said Jumper to himself, "that that old curmudgeon Croaker was going to make love to that dear young Miss Leapfrog? We will soon see whom she likes best."

The next morning Croaker dressed himself with unusual neatness; and that he might appear to better advantage, he went to a barber-frog who lived in a neighbouring arbour, and asked to be shaved and to have his wig dressed. The barber had just spread his white cloth, had lathered his customer's chin, and was flourishing a razor in his face, when what should catch Croaker's eye through the open doorway but the figure of his cousin Jumper, smartly dressed, with his cane under his arm, and a parasol over his head, to keep the sun off his delicate complexion, walking hastily along the path that led to Miss Leapfrog's residence.

To jump from his chair was Croaker's first impulse, and, sad to say, it was his last; for he fell with his throat upon the edge of the barber's razor, and in two minutes breathed his last.

Deep was Miss Leapfrog's grief, and great was Mr. Jumper's joy, when the news of this sad misfortune reached their ears. In the first burst of her anguish the young lady accused the barber of having murdered her dear Croaker; but Mr. Jumper hopped about for joy, and vowed that the barber was the best frog alive. And well he might be joyful, for as Croaker had died without a will, Jumper inherited all his estates; and when, after a week's mourning, the young lady's grief had somewhat subsided, the happy Mr. Jumper carried off the beautiful Miss Leapfrog.

But alas, how uncertain is happiness either to man or frogs! Two days afterwards, as Jumper was crossing a brook, a lily-white duck, who had been concealed by the rushes, flew at him with open beak and gobbled him up.

And the poor bride was left to mourn in silent solitude.

[Ill.u.s.tration: REYNARD AT HOME AT MALEPARDUS.]

THE STORY

OF

REYNARD THE FOX.

About the feast of Whitsuntide, when the woods were in their l.u.s.tyhood and gallantry, when every tree was clothed in the green and white livery of glorious leaves and sweet-smelling blossoms, when the earth was covered with her fairest mantle of flowers, and the sweet birds entertained the groves with the delight of their harmonious songs, the LION, the Royal King of Beasts, made solemn proclamation that all quadrupeds whatsoever should attend his court, and celebrate this great festival.