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[Illustration: THE FOX AND THE HEDGEHOG. Page 202.]



THE SQUIRRELS AND OTHER ANIMALS;

OR,

ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE HABITS AND INSTINCTS OF MANY OF
THE SMALLER BRITISH QUADRUPEDS.



BY GEORGE WARING.



LONDON:
HARVEY AND DARTON, GRACECHURCH STREET.




THE SQUIRRELS AND OTHER ANIMALS.




CHAPTER I.


"Bless me, I do believe I have been asleep!" said a squirrel, one fine
morning in early spring, when the delicious warmth of the sun had
reached him in his winter retreat, and roused the lazy little fellow
from a two months' nap. The truth is, that he and his family had fallen
asleep at the first setting in of the cold weather, and had passed the
dismal winter in a state of profound repose, except, that, during a
warm day or two in January, they had roused themselves for a short
time, and eaten a few nuts and acorns from their winter store.

"Yes, I have certainly been asleep," said the squirrel, "and I fancy I
have had a pretty long nap too. Well, I declare, my lazy wife and
children are lying there still, curled up like so many dead things!
Hallo, Mrs. Brush! come, get up and eat some breakfast. Here is the sun
shining in most gloriously at the mouth of the hole, and I hear the
blackbird's merry whistle in the grove below. Ah! they wont move, so
I'll have a run this fine morning, and see how the world looks now.
Perhaps when I come back they may be awake."

So Master Brush went to the entrance of his nest, which was situated at
a great height from the ground, in a commodious hollow of a magnificent
oak-tree.

"Oh joy!" he exclaimed, when he had looked around him for half a
minute, "I see those delicious buds are beginning to sprout. Nobody can
tell how I long for some fresh green food again! Nuts and acorns are
all very well, but then they are _terribly dry_. Here goes for a leap,
then!"

[Illustration: THE SQUIRREL. Page 4.]

So saying, the active little fellow sprang from his hole, and if you
had seen him, you would have thought that no animal without wings could
have ventured upon such a leap without being dashed to pieces upon the
ground. But Brush had nothing to fear; for though he had no wings, he
knew that his beautiful bushy tail, and his legs, stretched out
straight from his body, would bear him up in the air, and prevent his
falling too heavily. Then he had very strong legs for his size,
especially his hind legs, and his claws were so sharp and hooked, that
he could skip along the boughs, without the least danger of falling
off, and he could even run up and down the perpendicular trunks of
trees, almost as easily as we can walk upon the level ground.

So when Brush leaped from the entrance of his hole, instead of falling
to the earth, he pitched lightly upon a bough of the tree a long way
below him, and ran along it for a short distance. Then he leaped to
another bough still lower, from the end of which, he very easily
reached the next tree, and so on, from tree to tree, till he found
himself in a well-known grove of young larches, at some distance. Here
he immediately fell to work, nibbling the fresh green buds and tender
bark. He sat upright, as squirrels generally do when they are eating,
using his fore-feet as hands to hold his food, and very pretty he
looked. But I think, that, if the gamekeeper had seen him injuring the
young trees,[1] he would not have been very well pleased, and perhaps
he would have put his gun to his shoulder and shot poor little Brush,
if he had not received orders to the contrary. For though his master
knew that the squirrels injured his young trees sometimes, he would not
allow them to be killed.

      [1] I should be sorry to bring a false accusation against the
      squirrels, the most beautiful and entertaining of all the British
      quadrupeds. But the whole truth must be told. They _do_
      occasionally injure young trees by feeding on the buds and bark;
      and a relation of mine, who has an estate in the West of England,
      informs me that his plantations have suffered considerably from
      their attacks. In his woods, squirrels are unusually abundant,
      and in consequence their depredations are the more evident. But,
      generally speaking, these animals are not sufficiently numerous
      to cause any serious injury to our plantations, and the pleasure
      they afford us by exhibiting their wonderful leaps and feats of
      agility among the summer branches, more than repay us for their
      very trifling thefts.

This gentleman had a particular reason for protecting the squirrels in
his woods. One day the gamekeeper shot a very fine one, and brought it
up to the house as a present for his master's little daughter Jane, who
was confined with a disease from which she never recovered. At first,
the child was pleased with her new plaything, but her tender heart was
pained when she saw its beautiful eyes becoming dim, and recollected
that, perhaps it had left in its nest some young ones, that were
perishing for want of its care. Her grief was increased by fancying
that, as the animal had been killed on purpose for her, she had been
the cause of its death, and though her parents said all they could to
comfort her, they could hardly make her believe that she was not to
blame; for when people are very ill they often have strange fancies.

Poor little Jane died a few days after, and almost the last words she
spoke were, "Papa, don't let Harvey kill any more squirrels." Her
father carefully attended to this request of his darling little
girl--his only child--the joy of his heart--and though, like most
country gentlemen, he was exceedingly angry if any person stole his
game, I believe he would rather have lost fifty pheasants or hares than
one squirrel. _And so would I_, had I been poor little Jane's papa!

But we must not forget Master Brush, who has been seated all this time
in the larch-plantation, making a famous meal upon the aromatic buds
and tender bark. "Ah!" said he to himself, "if those lazy creatures in
the nest yonder did but know what delicious food there is here!" Then
he continued munching and skipping about the trees for some time
longer. But presently the weather began to change. The sun hid his
glorious face behind dark clouds; a fierce easterly wind whistled
through the trees; a cold driving rain came on, and winter seemed to be
returned again.

"Oh, dear me," said Brush, "this will never do! I don't like this sort
of thing at all! the nest is the best place I declare."

When he reached his own tree, he was obliged to ascend to his nest by a
different way, for squirrels cannot leap up to any place that is very
far above them; so he ran along the ground for a little distance, to
the bottom of the oak, which was surrounded by a very close thicket of
brambles.

In this thicket lived several families of dormice, who were Brush's
relations, and the waggish squirrel called out to one of them as he
passed, "Hallo, cousin Gotobed! The summer is almost over. If you don't
make haste, all the nuts and acorns will be gone!" But there was no
possibility of making his cousin Gotobed hear; for you must know, that
a dormouse is a very sleepy little fellow indeed; even more so than a
squirrel.

Brush was soon in his own warm nest, where he found all his family
safe, and sound asleep, as he had left them. This nest, as I have
mentioned, was made in a hole in the upper part of a very large
oak-tree, and was almost as dry and warm as any bedroom in our houses.
It was lined with dry leaves and soft moss, and in another part of the
hole, which was large enough for five or six squirrels' nests, there
was a great heap of nuts, acorns, and beechmast, which the careful
Brush and his family had collected in the autumn.

Besides this stock of food, there were two more hoards, hidden in holes
in different parts of the tree for the cunning squirrels thought, that,
if some thief should wish to rob them of their treasures, he would not
be very likely to discover all three of their storehouses.

If it were not for this large stock of provisions, the poor squirrels
would be starved to death, in very mild winters, because then they do
not sleep so much, and fresh food cannot be procured.

When Brush was in his comfortable nest, safe from the cold wind and
rain, though he had almost filled his stomach with young buds, he
thought he would try one of his nuts, just to see how they had kept
through the winter. Holding the nut in his hands, his sharp teeth soon
gnawed through the shell, and when he had reached the kernel, the
dainty little fellow would not eat a bit till he had carefully removed
every particle of the dry brown skin from it.

"A very sweet nut, I declare," said he, "nuts are not to be despised, after
all. Dear me, I think I feel rather sleepy again! Nuts are not bad things,
but as I was saying before, rather dry, when one has nothing else. But
really I am very sleepy. 'Tis either the cold wind, or the famous
breakfast I have made, I suppose;--very sleepy--indeed,--upon--my--word."

The last words sounded exactly as your voice would, if your head was
covered up under the bed-clothes. The truth is, that, while Brush was
talking to himself, he had gradually changed his position from sitting
upright to lying down on his side. Then he slowly rolled himself up
into a round ball, with his head and back closely covered by his
beautiful tail. This served him famously for a blanket, and so we may
say, that his last words were really spoken _with his head under the
bed-clothes_.

By way of filling up the time till the fine weather returns, and our
sleeping friend uncurls himself again, I will give you a very short
description of another sort of squirrel, which lives in the woods of
America, and is even a much better leaper than ours. It is called the
flying squirrel, though that is not a very proper name, for it cannot
really fly; I mean that it cannot raise itself from the ground, like a
bird can. But it can leap to a surprising distance, for besides a large
bushy tail, it has a very curious membrane, or skin, on each side of
its body, reaching from the fore to the hind leg. So when the flying
squirrel leaps, it stretches out this skin as wide as possible, and as
the air bears it up, it appears almost to _fly_ from one tree to
another. Travellers who have seen them, tell us that when a number of
them leap at the same time, they appear, at a distance, like leaves
blown off by the wind.




CHAPTER II.


After several days of cold wintry weather, the sun burst through the
clouds again, calling into life plants, and insects, _and squirrels_.
Brush and his wife, and their three children, who were born the
preceding summer, and had lived with their parents through the winter,
were all awake and enjoying themselves again. How they frolicked and
chased each other about from tree to tree, and played at hide-and-seek
among the branches! You would have thought that they had laid wagers
with each other, who should venture upon the most difficult and
dangerous leaps.

Then what feasting there was upon buds and young bark! and though this
fresh green food was very nice as a change, still they all seemed to
agree with our friend Brush, that nuts and acorns were not to be
despised neither.

Once or twice the gamekeeper gave the young squirrels a terrible fright
by shouting to them, when they were making free with the tender bark of
his master's trees; but their parents told them, as they had often done
before, that there was nothing to fear from Harvey, nor from his
frightful looking gun. I hope you have not forgotten who it was that
had saved the lives of so many squirrels. But if Harvey's frolicsome
young spaniels, Flora and Juno, had met with one of our friends at a
distance from any tree, I am afraid it would have been a bad business,
for squirrels cannot run very fast on the ground, and their bushy tails
seem rather in the way there. And the cunning little animals appear to
know this, for though they sometimes come down to the ground, you will
very seldom see them at any great distance from a tree.

A few days after the squirrels roused themselves from their long winter
sleep, their cousins, the dormice, in the thicket at the foot of the
tree, opened their sleepy eyes at last, and came out of their nests.
But when they were once thoroughly awake, their eyes did not look
sleepy at all, but on the contrary, were most beautifully bright and
dark, and rather large for the size of the animal.

[Illustration: THE DORMICE. Page 23.]

I call the dormouse a relation to the squirrel,[2] because in some
respects, he is really very like him, though at first sight you would
not think so, and would perhaps say, that he was very little different
from a common mouse, except in being rather fatter, and of a prettier
colour. But his tail, though not nearly so large and bushy, is
something like the squirrel's, and not at all like that of the mouse,
which is almost entirely bare of hair, and in my opinion, has a very
ugly and disagreeable appearance. The tail of the dormouse is handsome,
and useful also, for when he sleeps he curls it over his head and back,
to keep him warm and comfortable. Then in his habits he resembles the
squirrel, for like him he can climb trees well, though he cannot leap
very far, and he likes to dwell in the shade and retirement of the
pleasant woods, far from the habitations of man. Here he generally
makes his nest, which is composed of moss and leaves, in the thickest
parts of bushes or underwood, and he lays up a winter store, like the
squirrel.

      [2] The genus _myoxus_, to which the dormouse belongs, appears to
      be intermediate between the genera _sciurus_ and _mus_, in each
      of which this animal has been placed by different naturalists.

Dormice are such sociable little creatures, that several families are
sometimes found living close together, like those that had chosen their
habitations at the foot of our squirrel's great oak-tree. Perhaps
before I have finished this tale I may have something more to tell you
about little Gotobed, the dormouse.

Do you suppose that Brush and his family spent the whole of the summer
in frolicking and feasting? No, indeed! for even squirrels have work to
do, and duties to perform. So, after a few days spent in the merry way
I have described, one afternoon, when their children were gone on an
excursion to the larch-grove, Mr. and Mrs. Brush perched themselves up
on the topmost branch of their own oak-tree, and had some very serious
conversation together. At least, they meant that the conversation
should be serious; but Brush was such a merry waggish fellow, that he
seldom could talk very long upon any subject without a laugh or a joke.

"Well, my dear," he began very gravely, "this is the third family you
and I have seen playing around us. For three years we have lived
happily together in this old oak, and a finer tree or a more
comfortable nest than ours I do not believe can be found in the whole
world."

Here in the gaiety of his heart he darted off to a neighbouring bough,
and after performing a few strange antics for his companion's
amusement, he was again perched up by her side, and went on with his
speech.

"Three years," continued he, "yes, I declare, it is three years since I
persuaded you to have nothing more to say to that tiresome old fellow
Bigtail, and to take me for a companion instead."

"Come, come, you rogue," said his wife, "if this is the serious
conversation you wanted to have with me, you may as well hold your
tongue."

"Ha! ha!" he proceeded without attending to the interruption, "ha! ha!
I remember that conceited old fellow Bigtail, and how you preferred him
to me, because his tail was the least bit in the world longer than
mine. I made him ashamed of his fine tail though at last. Oh, what fun!
I shall never forget it! He was stuck up by your side, talking the most
ridiculous stuff, I dare say, when I leaped down suddenly upon him from
the branch above. I never did anything better in my life! Over he went
like a dead thing. The old fellow was too much frightened, and too
stiff in his joints, to catch hold of the boughs below, so down he
tumbled to the ground. I declare I thought he was killed! But no, he
only broke--ha! ha! ha! I am ready to die when I think of it--he only
_broke his tail_! Ha! ha! he never could hold it up over his back
afterwards, so there it was always dragging behind him, like a bundle
of dead grass. What a ridiculous old fellow! After that tumble, he
always went by the name Brokentail, instead of Bigtail; and from that
time you never could abide him, you know."

"Really, Mr. Brush," said his partner, "if you make such a fool of
yourself, I wont speak another word to you all day. What has all this
nonsense to do with the serious conversation you wished to have with me
about the children?"

"Oh yes, it was about the children I wanted to talk to you," replied
Brush, "and not about old Broken----. Well, well, I wont say anything
more about him, then, so come and sit down quietly again, and I'll be
very serious indeed! There! now we are all right once more. Well, my
dear, now then about these children of ours. I believe you know what I
am going to say--_we must part from them_, Mrs. Brush! It is high time
for you and me to see about putting the nest in order for another
family, and these three children of ours must go and see the world, and
find companions for themselves, for the rest of their lives. I only
hope that when the boys are seeking for companions they will not break
their tails like old ----; I mean, I hope they will both meet with as
good a partner as their mother has been to me."

The two old squirrels had a great deal more talk upon this subject, but
as conversation about family affairs is often rather tiresome, I shall
not repeat all they said about the matter. Though they both regretted
parting from their children, they were convinced that a separation was
necessary, and they agreed that the sooner it took place the better.

Perhaps you may think they were rather unamiable and hard-hearted, in
treating their children in this manner; but you must remember that,
though these were not yet a year old, they were very nearly, if not
quite, as large as their parents, and were well able to take care of
themselves.

When the young squirrels were informed of this determination, they were
very sorry at first; but the thoughts of being their own masters, and
of having comfortable nests of their own, reconciled them to the
separation. I never heard what good advice their parents gave them at
parting, but I have not the least doubt that Brush cautioned them to
beware of the sad fate of old Brokentail.

So the three children, leaving their native tree, set off by themselves
into the wide world, and I have nothing more to tell you about _them_.
We must see what Brush and his companion did during the rest of the
summer, what adventures they met with, and what new acquaintances they
found among the various animals that lived in the neighbourhood of
their beautiful oak-tree.

Here I must give you a short description of the place where this tree
grew, and where it had flourished for five or six hundred years at
least.

It was in a small, but very beautiful valley, through which ran a brook
of the clearest water imaginable. This little stream came down from the
hills, and ran through the upper part of the valley, in a very furious
manner, as if it were in a hurry to be gone, that it might join the
dark deep river, and reach the wide ocean at last. But just at the spot
where our oak raised its head very far above all the trees around it,
the impatient stream gradually changed its manner of proceeding, and
began to run more slowly, as if desirous of remaining a little longer
in such a delightful spot. So, after quietly winding backwards and
forwards for some time, it spread itself out at last into the form of a
most beautiful little pond, through which the current was so slow that
it was hardly perceptible.

The gentleman to whom this valley, and the country around it, belonged,
had spent many hundreds of pounds, and had employed the most skilful
people he could find, in making his gardens and pleasure-grounds as gay
and beautiful as possible. And yet, if you had walked all over his
property, you would have said that no part of it was half so lovely as
this little retired valley, where the art of man had never done
anything to add to its exceeding beauty. The gardener's spade and
pruning-knife had never been used here. Everything you saw was fresh
and unaltered from the hand of God himself.

I think the most beautiful part was the pond, and the open space just
around it; for here the finest wild-flowers grew in abundance, and the
noble oak-tree was so near, that, when the winds of autumn came down
the valley, the trout, that delighted to swim in those pure waters,
were sometimes startled by a shower of acorns, falling down from the
outermost branches, and making a terrible splash over their heads.

I have not time to describe more than a very few of the plants which
were to be found in the pond and on its banks. There was the
water-lily, with its large green leaves laying flat upon the water, and
its splendid white flowers, just raising their heads above the surface;
the flowering-rush, which bears a bunch of beautiful pink blossoms on a
high tapering stem; and the buckbean, which, though at a distance it
does not look so grand as the other two, has such an exquisitely
beautiful fringe on its pinky-white flowers, that the most skilful
painter has never yet been able to produce even a tolerable imitation
of it.

Many other lovely plants there were growing round the pond, and in
other parts of this delightful little valley: plants which exceeded in
beauty many of those we cultivate with so much care in our gardens and
hot-houses. But when I began this little history I meant to write about
"Squirrels and other Animals," and not to give a description of plants.
We must therefore return to our friends in the oak-tree.




CHAPTER III.


After the departure of their children the squirrels felt, as you may
suppose, rather dull and lonely at first, but they very wisely made use
of a remedy for low spirits, which I would strongly recommend to you,
whenever you find yourself melancholy or uncomfortable in your mind
from any cause. And particularly when you are so, _without_ any
apparent cause; for we sometimes see people very dismal and melancholy,
when they have every good thing they can wish, and _ought_ to be
cheerful and happy. This wonderful and never failing remedy for low
spirits is _employment_! Try it, my dear melancholy young reader, and
whether you have a good reason for your sadness or not, you will at
least have met with something worth remembering in this history.

Our squirrels, then, instead of sitting moping side by side on a bough,
and grumbling out to each other, "What miserable creatures we are!"
instead of thus giving way to their melancholy thoughts, they
immediately began to make use of the _remedy_ I have mentioned. The
first thing they did was carefully to examine the nest, to see what
repairs it stood in need of. It would at any rate require a fresh
lining of moss and leaves; so all the old bedding, which I must confess
was rather dusty and untidy, was taken off, and kicked out of the hole,
together with a quantity of nut-shells and other rubbish, which had
been collecting there for some months. When this work was finished, it
was found that the under part, or groundwork of the nest, which
consisted of small twigs and fibres curiously interlaced, was very
rotten, and required to be almost entirely renewed. So there was plenty
of work to do, and very diligently the squirrels laboured to complete
it. Not that they worked like slaves, from morning till night. Oh no!
they allowed themselves abundance of time for feasting and fun, for
they were such merry, light-hearted creatures, that they could not live
without a good game of play now and then. They even mixed play with
their work; for when they had to go to a little distance for some
particularly fine soft moss, or other materials for nest-building, they
were sure to have a race, to try which of them could reach the place
first. So the days passed by right merrily.

"It is very odd," said Brush, one evening, just before he rolled
himself up for the night in the warm _blanket_ I have before mentioned;
"It is very odd that we should have lived almost all our lives so near
that family of water-rats, in the bank of the pond, and have known so
little about them. I always thought them a savage, bloodthirsty, set of
fellows, and that they would make no scruple of killing fish, or young
birds, or mice, or any other small animal that they could master. But
what do you think Gotobed told me just now, as I came up the tree? Why,
he says, that it is all a mistake, and that he is certain that these
water-rats are a very decent, quiet sort of people, feeding on
vegetables, like ourselves. He says, that as he was creeping about just
now among the grass, close to the edge of the pond, but a long way from
the water-rats' holes, which are all on the opposite side, he suddenly
found himself quite close to one of these creatures, who was perched up
on a flat stone, and busily gnawing the root of some plant. Our poor
little cousin, you know, has not much presence of mind, so in his
fright, and terrible hurry to escape from the monster, he slipped off
the bank, and rolled into the water. The splash he made frightened the
rat, who plumped into the water too, and so there they were both
swimming close together. Gotobed expected to be eaten up in a minute,
but the rat only said to him, 'Ha! ha! little fellow, is it only you?
Not much used to swimming I see! But come down some fine evening, and
I'll teach you. The water is too cold just now for such as you.'

"Gotobed was too much frightened to say a word, so he scrambled up the
bank, and ran home to his nest as fast as possible. Poor little thing!
he looked so miserable, with his beautiful fur dripping wet, and
sticking close to his body."

"What a ridiculous story," said Mrs. Brush, who could hardly keep
herself awake till it was finished; "Why I have heard Gotobed say, that
his mother used to tell a story about a relation of hers, who lived a
good way off, who was killed and eaten up in a moment, by one of these
very water-rats. I have even heard it said, that the males will often
kill and eat the young ones, if their mothers are not careful to hide
them. Depend upon it, they are a horrid set, and I often wish they did
not live quite so near us."

"Well," said Brush, gaping, "I'll try to find out something more about
them to-morrow; but I declare I can't keep awake any longer just now."

So the next afternoon, our squirrel, who had some courage, and a great
deal of curiosity, determined, if possible, to learn something about
the character of these water-rats, one of whom, by a kind word spoken
to little Gotobed, had so altered his opinion of their disposition and
manner of living.

Brush chose the afternoon for his visit, because he had observed that
these animals came out of their holes more at that time than in the
middle of the day. But our inquisitive friend did not allow his
curiosity to lead him into any danger, in this inquiry into the
proceedings of his neighbours. He therefore crept through the high
grass to the other side of the pond, and very quietly climbed up into a
low willow-tree, overhanging the bank, in which the water-rats had made
their habitations. Here, concealed among the leaves, he had a full view
of all that passed below.

Close to the steep bank, in which these animals had bored many round
holes, was a small flat space of fine pebbles and sand, sloping down
into the water on one side, and on the other, bordered by a thick bed
of the sweet-smelling water-mint, with here and there a stem of the
plant called horsetail, towering up like a gigantic palm-tree in the
midst of a forest. On this pleasant little pebbly beach, Brush
perceived several water-rats, both old and young; and some very grave
looking faces were peeping out of their holes in the bank, watching the
proceedings of their companions below.

One of those on the beach had his attention entirely engaged by the
root of some plant, which he was nibbling; another was busily cleaning
his fur with his fore-paws; and two very young ones were paddling about
in the shallow water, into which their mother, as Brush supposed, had
taken them, for the first time in their lives, to give them a lesson in
swimming. Sometimes one of the grave looking gentlemen in the bank,
either for amusement, or in search of food, would leap, or rather
_tumble_, from the mouth of his hole, into the water, and dive at once
to the bottom, with the greatest ease imaginable; but he could not
remain under much more than a minute at a time, for want of breath.
When he came up again to the surface, Brush was exceedingly surprised
to see that, instead of appearing wet and miserable, like poor little
Gotobed after his ducking, his hair was as dry as if he had never been
into the water at all.

"How delightful it must be to dive and swim about like that!" said the
squirrel to himself, and he could hardly help jumping in to try his
skill, forgetting that he was not formed for moving through the water,
but for running and leaping about among the branches of trees. I wonder
how he would have managed his bushy tail in swimming, and how funny it
would have looked with the long hair all wet and sticking together!
Perhaps he thought of this himself. At any rate, he did not jump into
the water just then, but remained looking down from his hiding-place in
the willow-tree, very much pleased with what he had hitherto seen of
these clever divers and swimmers.

"Well," said he to himself, "they don't eat their own young ones, that
is clear enough; but how they might treat any other small animal that
came in their way I cannot possibly tell. And yet the great old rat
that frightened poor Gotobed so terribly, behaved very well, I am sure;
but then perhaps he was not hungry just then, and only asked him to
come again and be taught to swim that he might make a meal of him
another time. So I won't have anything to say to them just yet. Perhaps
if I wait here a little longer, I may see something that will decide
the matter."

And the matter _was_ decided, sooner than Brush expected. At a little
distance from the water-rats' station, he now perceived a most singular
looking animal, which was quite a stranger to him, though he had a
pretty large acquaintance among his neighbours. It was about the size
of a common mouse, but of a deep velvety black above, and white
underneath, and its nose was very long and pointed, like the snout of
a pig. His eyes were very small indeed, and looked like little black
beads deeply set in his head.

This curious, but beautiful little animal behaved exactly like a person
who knows that he has a great deal of work to get through in a very
short time. I mean, that he was very diligent and active, and seemed
determined not to lose a moment by stopping to rest himself, or to
consider what he should do next. He appeared to be an excellent swimmer
and diver, thrusting his long nose under the leaves at the bottom of
the water, in search of insects I suppose, and when he came to the
surface again, his fur was quite dry, like that of the water-rats. So
when he dived, this water-repelling property in his fur made him appear
of a beautiful silvery white colour, from the number of small air
bubbles he carried down with him. He was never still for a moment,
either diving to the bottom, or swimming, with a very quick wriggling
motion on the surface, and every now and then he would come to the
shore, from which he seldom ventured very far.

"A very queer little fellow indeed, upon my word!" said Brush, "I
wonder who he is. I cannot help liking him though, for he seems so
clever and industrious. Oh dear me! how I wish I could dive in that
beautiful clear water! But I declare he is coming nearer and nearer
every minute to that old rat, who is so busy gnawing his root. Now,
when the little one passes him, we shall see what will happen. I am
sure the old rat must be terribly hungry, or he would not gnaw that
disagreeable looking root so eagerly, and if he does not pounce upon
the little black fellow, and tear him to pieces, I shall be very much
astonished indeed."

The squirrel was not long kept in suspense, for just as he had finished
talking the matter over to himself, the little velvet-coated swimmer,
intent upon his own important business, came paddling along very near
the shore, and at last landed quite close to the spot where the rat was
still engaged with his root. But when he perceived the visitor, he
immediately left off eating, and slowly turned his head towards him!

[Illustration: THE WATER-RAT AND WATER-SHREWMOUSE. Page 61.]

"Horrible! he'll have him now! 'Tis all over with him," said Brush,
quite trembling with eagerness to see the end of the affair. "'Tis all
over with the little black fellow, and these rats are rascals after
all!"

But he was very much mistaken, for the only animal that lost its life
upon the occasion, was a small insect, which the bead-like eyes of
little velvet-coat had perceived crawling upon a stone, near the
water's edge, and in his eagerness to secure this valuable prize, I
suppose he did not observe that such a large fierce-looking creature
was close by, or perhaps he had found from experience that there was
nothing to fear from him. However, the little fellow boldly seized his
prey, and darted off with it into the water, while the quiet old
gentleman went on munching his root again.

Now when Brush witnessed this peaceable meeting of the two animals,
proving that water-rats were not the cruel, savage tempered creatures,
they are generally supposed to be, he was so delighted, that he quite
forgot that he had intended to have been a concealed spectator of their
proceedings. So he called out as loud as he could,--

"Capital, I declare! 'Tis all a lie from beginning to end. Little
Gotobed was right after all. They _are_ a very decent, quiet set, as
he said."

But this expression of his sentiments quite interrupted the peaceable
employments of the company below, for the loud strange voice nearly
over their heads frightened them so, that they all either dived under
water, or retreated into their holes. However, the squirrel had now
satisfied his curiosity, and as he was rather frightened himself at
the disturbance he had made, he hastily leaped down from his hiding-place,
and scampered home to his nest. As for little velvet-coat, I never
heard what became of him, but no doubt he found a place to hide
himself in. But I believe I have never told you who he was. He was a
_water-shrewmouse_,[3] and very much like the common shrewmouse that
we often find lying dead in lanes and pathways. But he was larger
than the common shrewmouse, and altogether a much handsomer animal.

      [3] Though this beautiful and interesting little animal, the
      water-shrewmouse, was for a long time almost unnoticed by the
      naturalists of this country, it cannot be considered as a rare
      species. Bell, in his History of British Quadrupeds, informs us,
      that it is not uncommon in many parts of England, and he says,
      that its black velvet-like fur and long snout have sometimes
      given rise to an opinion, that it is a small species of mole, to
      which animal its structure and habits indicate a near affinity.




CHAPTER IV.


When Brush gave an account of all that he had seen to his partner, who
was of a much more cautious disposition than himself, he was rather
vexed that she still seemed not quite convinced that these water-rats
were such peaceable, good-tempered animals as he believed them to be.
It was very tiresome, to be sure, but she _would_ keep on relating
all the foolish old tales she had ever heard about their killing other
animals, and even their own children. We all know how disagreeable it
is when we have been taking a great deal of trouble to persuade other
people to think like ourselves on any subject, to find at last, after
half-an-hour's talking, that they are just as much attached to their
own opinions as ever. Now our squirrel was really a very good-tempered
fellow in general, but I must confess that he was rather cross on this
occasion; and though he did not say much about it, he showed that he
was "a little out of sorts," as people say, by curling himself up for
the night fully half an hour before his usual time of going to sleep.

But the next morning he awoke in a very good-humoured mood indeed, and
worked hard all day with his companion, to complete the nest. He seemed
to have forgotten the subject of their dispute, till towards evening,
when, as he was sitting alone on a branch of the oak, on the side
nearest the pond, a _bat_ suddenly fluttered by, skimming with zigzag
flight over the still water.

"There goes old Leatherwing, I declare!" exclaimed Brush: "the very
person I was wishing to see! I'll call out to him to stop the next time
he passes, and ask him to set me right about those water-rats. He is a
very learned old fellow, and I believe knows something about every
animal in the woods. To be sure, old Leatherwing is often rather
tiresome and prosy, and he _will_ talk a great deal about his own
affairs; but then he is a very clever old gentleman for all that, and
has seen a great deal of the world."

For some time Leatherwing continued flying backwards and forwards, over
the upper end of the pond, and seemed determined not to approach the
oak-tree. The truth is, that his game, which consisted of gnats and
other small insects, was abundant just at that spot, and a very hearty
supper he made that evening. I suppose he found the legs and wings of
these insects rather dry food, for sometimes, as he skimmed over the
water, he would dip in like a swallow, and drink a few drops as he
passed, in order to wash them down.

While he is eating his supper, I intend to give you a short, and I hope
not a very uninteresting description of his curious wings. As for his
habits and manner of passing his time, I dare say that he will take
care to say something upon that subject himself, when he gets into
conversation with Brush, who has just informed us that "old Leatherwing
_will_ talk a great deal about his own affairs."

Almost every person, whether living in the town or country, must often
have observed the bat flitting about trees and houses in a calm summer
evening, but many have never taken the trouble to examine him more
closely, or have not had an opportunity of doing so. To form a proper
idea of the structure of the bat's wings you must understand, that his
fore-legs, or his _arms_, as I will call them, are almost as long as
his body, and that all the four fingers of his hands are _quite as
long as his arms_. Between these immensely long and slender fingers,
is stretched, (like the silk on the framework of an umbrella,) a very
thin elastic skin, or membrane,[4] which is continued from the tips of
the little fingers to the ankles of the hind-legs, and then very nearly
to the end of the tail, which is almost as long as his body. So that
the animal, when spread out in the flying position, is entirely
surrounded with the membrane, except at the head and neck. The toes of
the hind-foot, and the thumb of the hand, are not attached to the skin,
and are not longer than those of other animals. These are furnished
with sharp and hooked claws, so that the bat can cling very firmly to
walls and perpendicular rocks.

      [4] The membrane of the bat's wing appears to possess a most
      exquisite and inconceivable sensibility. Cruel experiments have
      proved that this animal, when deprived of the senses of seeing,
      hearing, and smelling, will still fly about a room, without ever
      coming into contact with the walls, or with threads stretched
      across in all directions. Cuvier supposes, that "the propinquity
      of solid bodies is perceived by the manner in which the air
      re-acts upon the surface of the wings." This astonishing faculty,
      which almost indicates the possession of a sixth sense unknown to
      us, is no doubt of great use to the bat, as it enables him to
      pursue his rapid zigzag flight in the dark, without fear of
      striking against the boughs of trees, or other obstacles.

      The animal introduced in the tale is the common bat, _Vespertilio
      pipistrellus_ of modern naturalists. It is now ascertained that
      no less than seventeen species of this singular family are
      natives of this country. Some of them are very much larger than
      the common bat, measuring fifteen inches in the extent of their
      wings.

It has been said, that the bat is nothing more than a _mouse with
wings_. Nonsense! except in its size, it has no more resemblance to the
_mouse_, than it has to the _lion_; and those who think that the two
animals are at all alike can never have examined them attentively.
However, in some parts of the country the bat is still called by its
old English name, "_the flittermouse_," that is, the mouse that
_flitters_, or _flutters_ about.

When Leatherwing had caught most of the insects at the upper end of the
pond, he thought he would try what success he could meet with lower
down; and then he came so near the oak-tree that Brush managed to make
him hear at last. So the bat, who happened to be in rather a talkative
mood, left off insect-hunting for the present, for the sake of enjoying
a little gossip with his old acquaintance. He settled on a branch close
by, but instead of sitting down like other animals, the queer little
creature chose to hang himself up by his hind-claws, with his head
downwards, and his wings closely folded round him. In this strange,
and, as most people would think, extremely uncomfortable position, old
Leatherwing began the following conversation:--

LEATHERWING.

Well, Master Brush, what do you want with me now? Just made such a
glorious supper! Do you know, I fancy that the insects about this pond
of yours are fatter and better tasted than any others, and that's the
reason I come so far after them. For _'tis_ a good way off, you know,
to the old church-tower where I live. Well, but as I was saying, what
do you want with me this evening?

BRUSH.

Why, I want to ask you a question, for to tell you the truth, yesterday
evening Mrs. B. and I had a little----

LEATHERWING.

What! a little addition to your family? you don't say so! Well, I
thought it was almost time, for we are nearly in the middle of summer.
Now do you know Mrs. Leatherwing was confined several days ago, and
that's the reason she is not with me this evening. I left her flying up
and down a shady lane nearer home, carrying her baby about with her, as
she always does, you know, till it grows pretty strong. She had only
one this time. And so Mrs. Brush is confined, is she? Well, I
congratulate you. How many has she got? Five or six, I'll be bound!

BRUSH.

She hasn't got any at all yet, Mr. Leatherwing, though what may happen
in the course of a few days I cannot possibly tell. But I want to ask
you a question about something that has puzzled us very much lately.

LEATHERWING.

To be sure, I dare say I shall be able to answer it; for though I say
it myself, I _am_ able to give you an answer to almost any question.
For you see, friend Brush, I have lived all my life in towns and
villages, and so I have heard and seen a good deal of what passes in
the world. Then I am not like you sleepy animals, who hardly ever wake
up more than once or twice during the whole winter. To be sure, I take
a little nap myself, of about a couple of months, in the very coldest
weather, when there are no insects stirring. We bats, you know, can't
eat nuts, and such sort of trash; and so when there is no wholesome
food to be met with, we are obliged to sleep a little, just to pass
away the time. Now, if I could contrive to keep a winter stock of
_gnats_, as easily as you can of _nuts_, I declare I would not sleep
much more in winter than in summer. For I don't mind a little frost,
not I! only in cold weather, instead of flying about in the evening, as
I do at this time of the year, I choose the sunshine in the middle of
the day, because then I have the best chance of meeting with some game.
And yet ignorant people say that I cannot bear the light of the sun! I
can tell you, that I picked up a pretty good meal of insects one bright
day last winter, when the ground was frozen hard, and I heard some of
the stupid boys in our village call out, as I passed them, 'Why!
there's a bat! Throw thy cap at him, Jem! What business has _he_ got to
be flying about now, I wonder?' And then another said, 'Throw at him!
Well done! Once get him down on the ground, and he can neither run nor
fly. These fellows can't raise themselves off the ground, dost know!'

"Great fools! I might easily have shown them that I can both run very
well on the ground, and fly up from it when I choose; but I did _not_
choose to try it just then. But let me see, what were we talking about?
You were going to ask me a question, I think."

As Brush had now an opportunity of speaking at last, he related to
Leatherwing all the tales he had heard about the evil doings of the
water-rats, and also what he had himself observed of their habits. Then
he asked the bat for his opinion upon this puzzling question, and the
old fellow gave it as follows:--

LEATHERWING.

The longer I live in the world, my good friend Brush, and the more I
see of the world, the more I am astonished at the stupidity and amazing
ignorance of the people I meet with! To be sure, everybody has not had
such good opportunities as myself of obtaining information, or has not
made such good use of them. But let that pass. Now for these water-rats.
In the first place, then, they _are_ a very quiet, inoffensive people,
and would no more think of killing a mouse, or a young bird, or any
other small animal, than you would. The only mischief they ever do is
by boring their holes through the embankments of canals and ponds, and
in this manner the meadows have sometimes been flooded. In the second
place, all the other wicked deeds that they have been accused of should
be laid to the charge of the _common brown rat_, a ferocious,
savage-tempered creature, which often lives in the banks of ditches,
and is then supposed by silly people to be the same animal as the
water-rat.

BRUSH.

Capital! so I was right after all about the character of these
good-tempered neighbours of ours. Ho, ho! Mrs. Brush, I shall have
something to tell you presently! Then it must have been one of these
common brown rascal that killed little Gotobed's relation.

LEATHERWING.

To be sure it was, for as I tell you, they are fierce, savage
creatures, and are so voracious that they will eat anything. They
destroy young birds and other animals; and if no other food could be
found, I dare say they would be wicked and unnatural enough to make a
meal of their own young ones. And yet, let me tell you, they are very
clever, sensible creatures, if they would but make a better use of
their abilities. The worst of it all is that they are _foreigners_, and
have no business in this country at all, though from what part of the
world they came I cannot tell you.[5] And if I cannot answer this
question, you may be sure, friend Brush, that there are not many people
living who can. However, here the rascals are; and what do you think
they have been endeavouring to do ever since they came? Why, they have
been trying to destroy all the rats that had possession of the country
before their arrival; and as these old English black rats, as they are
called from their colour, are smaller and weaker than themselves, I
dare say that they will at last succeed in their wicked designs. So as
this vile foreign brown rat is fond of living in the banks of ditches
and of ponds, near mills and stables, he is often thought to be the
same as the quiet respectable water-rat. For, as I say, the stupidity
and ignorance of people is really amazing! Why, the two animals are no
more alike than you and I are, I was going to say; certainly not nearly
so much alike, except in size, as yourself and the little Gotobeds down
below, there. No! these water friends of yours should never acknowledge
the common rat as a cousin; but they are not very distantly related to
a much more noble animal--to the _beaver_,[6] friend Brush, though
perhaps you have never heard of such a creature.

      [5] The common brown rat, which has now been an inhabitant of
      this island for about one hundred years, is often improperly
      called the "Norway rat," as if it came originally from that
      country; whereas, it was quite unknown there when it first
      received that name. Pennant believes that it was brought over in
      merchant-vessels from the East Indies.

      It is even supposed, that the old English black rat, as it is
      called, is not originally a native of this island, as no mention
      is made of it in any author earlier than the middle of the
      sixteenth century.

      [6] The characters of the teeth, the form of the body, and the
      habits of the water-rat, fully justify its removal from the genus
      _mus_, to which the common rat belongs, and indicate a pretty
      close affinity to the beaver. Linnæus himself appears struck
      with this, for though in his _Systema Naturæ_ he has placed the
      water-rat in the genus _mus_, in a subsequent work he has removed
      it to that of _castor_.

Well, well, we must not expect too much from people who have never had
an opportunity of learning. I could tell you a good deal about this
relation of the water-rat, this clever fellow called the beaver, and
about the famous wooden houses he makes of the trunks and branches of
trees. But I declare I must fly home, and see how Mrs. Leatherwing is
getting on. Oh! stop a minute, though; I forgot one thing. Perhaps
_you_ don't believe that I can run on a level surface, or raise myself
from it, as you may never have seen me do it. Look here, then!

So saying, the funny little creature made what he called a _run_, along
the large branch upon which Brush was seated, and at the end of this
_run_ of two or three feet in length, he gave a sort of a little spring
into the air, and instantly spreading his beautiful wings, he sailed
away from the tree, saying, "Good bye, Brush! what d'ye think of that,
eh?"

But the squirrel did not return the farewell, for when he saw the very
ridiculous manner in which his friend shuffled along, while he
performed the feat which he called _running_, he was seized with such a
fit of laughter that he could make no reply, and he was even obliged to
hold fast, lest he should fall off the branch. When he had recovered
from his merriment, he began to talk to himself, in an unusually grave
and moralizing strain.

"Well, Mr. Leatherwing," said he, "you are an odd fellow, a very odd
little fellow indeed! But I have learned something from you this
evening, besides the information you gave me about those rats. I have
learned that every animal has a different part to perform in the world,
and that we all should be content with our situations, and not attempt
to do things for which we were never intended. Now I suppose nobody
will deny that I can run and leap famously, so that I am quite at home
among the boughs of this beautiful oak; but I cannot fly at all, and I
believe I should be a very poor swimmer. Then there is my neighbour,
the water-rat, who can both dive and swim like a fish, but he can no
more fly than myself, and I am sure he cannot leap half so well. As for
old Leatherwing, the _air_ is for him, and most delightful it must be
to fly and sail about as he does. But then he must be content with
_flying only_, for I think he would be much worse off in the water than
I should, and when he attempts to run or to leap--Ha! ha! what fun! I
must go and tell Mrs. Brush all about that."




CHAPTER V.


The important event upon which Leatherwing had been in such haste to
congratulate his friend, really took place in two days after the
conversation just related. In other words, the joys and cares of our
squirrels were increased by the presence of four young ones, as fine
healthy little creatures as their hearts could desire. And I am sure
that more attentive and affectionate parents than Brush and his
companion could not be found, even among the human race. For many days
they made a point of never leaving the nest at the same time, for fear
their tender family should suffer for want of their parents' warmth and
protection. And though Brush was naturally such a playful rattling
fellow, you might have observed some difference in his behaviour, since
he became the father of four helpless children. I mean, that he spent
less time in play, and seldom rambled to any great distance from the
oak-tree. So for a week or two our squirrels passed their time very
sedately and quietly, taking care of their children, and watching with
great delight their rapid growth from day to day.

One evening, just before bed-time, Brush was peering out at the
entrance of his hole, as he often did before he curled himself up for
the night, perhaps that he might see what sort of weather it was likely
to be the next day. Whatever his object might have been, he certainly
_was_ looking out of his hole on this particular evening; when, casting
his eyes down the valley, he perceived a small dark speck dancing about
in the air, and as it drew nearer, and became more distinct, he saw
that it was his friend Leatherwing, coming to enjoy his favourite sport
of gnat-catching, over the surface of the pond.

"I feel rather sleepy," said Brush, "but I have not seen the old fellow
for some time, and I _must_ tell him what has happened since he was
here last."

So he ran out to the end of a branch, and when the bat came within hail
he begged him to stop for a few minutes' chat.

Now, though Leatherwing was very hungry, and his game was abundant, yet
his love of a little gossip was so great, that it overcame his dislike
to the feeling of an empty stomach, and he was just going to alight on
the branch, by the side of his friend, when he suddenly called out in a
voice of extreme terror, "Back, friend Brush! Run back to your hole
directly! Back, you foolish fellow, or the cruel wild-cat will have
you!"

[Illustration: THE WILD-CAT. Page 99.]

Horrible! the monstrous wild-cat, the British tigress as she has been
called, was in the tree indeed! She was crouching down on a
neighbouring branch, between the squirrel and the nest, preparing
herself for the fearful spring, by that peculiar wriggling motion of
the hinder part of the body which you may often have observed in your
favourite kitten, when she is just going to dart at the plaything you
have kindly made for her amusement.

At first sight of the monster, the poor little squirrel was so
terrified that he had no power to move, for her great savage eyes were
fixed upon him, and sent forth a horrible greenish coloured light,
which seemed to have the effect of preventing any attempt at escape.
But he recovered himself at last, and it was well for him that he did
so; for hardly, by means of a tremendous spring, had he reached a
distant bough, when his fierce pursuer, who must have leaped at the
same instant, alighted on the very spot he had just quitted. And now
between these two animals, so unequally matched in strength and size,
you might have seen a most exciting and hardly contested race; the
squirrel doing his utmost to secure his safety, by reaching his hole,
and the wild-cat following with terrible eagerness, in hopes of
obtaining a most delicate and favourite morsel for her supper. Had they
both started fairly, I think that the fierce beast would have had no
chance of overtaking her prey; but, as I have mentioned, she was
between the squirrel and his fortress when the chase began, so that he
could not run at once to his only place of refuge.

Poor Brush! he was hardly pressed indeed, and several times, when he
found his retreat to his hole cut off, he gave himself up for lost.
He owed his safety at last, not to his wonderful agility alone, but
also to his _lightness_, which enabled him to pass over the smaller
branches that would have bent or broken with the weight of his enemy.
To keep you no longer in suspense, you must know, then, that the poor
breathless terrified squirrel reached his hole at last, and no sooner
was he safe within it, than an immense paw, furnished with terribly
sharp, hooked claws, was thrust in as far as it could reach, and Brush
could see the light of those horrid, yellow-green eyes, gleaming in
upon him through the narrow opening. He even fancied he could smell her
hot tainted breath, as she growled with rage and disappointment.

"Baulked, Mrs. Wild-cat! Exactly three seconds too late, Mrs. Tabby!
Yes, Madam, if you had reached the hole only three seconds earlier, you
would have made a very nice supper of poor Brush, and his nest would
that night have contained a sorrowful widow and four fatherless
children. A little too late, I am happy to say, Mrs. Tabby! Only a very
little too late, but 'a miss is as good as a mile,' as people say.
What! you are in a terrible rage now, are you? And you will growl, and
spit, and try to thrust your great ugly head into a hole only just
large enough for the slender body of Brush to pass easily through it.
There! you may do your worst, and when you have tired yourself, you may
go and look for a supper elsewhere, only I cannot possibly wish that
good luck may attend upon your hunting. One thing I _squirrels_ wish
though, that Harvey was under the tree just now with his gun. Well,
never mind! Your time will come, I dare say."

Yes, the squirrel had escaped from his terrible enemy for that time. He
and his family were safe as long as they remained in their castle, and
they had still sufficient food in their hoard to stand a pretty long
siege, though I cannot tell what they would have done for want of
water. But then how miserable it would be, to be kept close prisoners
for days, or even weeks; for how could they ever be certain that their
enemy was not still in the neighbourhood, or perhaps lying in wait for
them behind some branch of their own oak-tree? Truly a very pitiable
situation indeed!

It is wonderful how we become accustomed to dangers of all kinds, and
yet those who have often risked their lives in battle will tell you,
that this is really the case. In his first trial the young soldier will
perhaps be so terribly frightened that nothing but the certainty of
being disgraced prevents his running away. But after some years spent
amid dangers, the coward becomes by degrees a bold fellow, who can hear
bullets whistle around him, and see bright steel flash before his eyes,
if not with indifference, at least, with perfect coolness and
steadiness.

But what has all this about soldiers to do with the poor prisoners in
the oak tree? There does not appear to be much connexion between the
two subjects, certainly; but I was going to say that our _squirrels_
resembled _soldiers_ in one respect. I mean, that _they_ became rather
more courageous by being accustomed to live in continual danger. For
the first day or two after the chase, they were afraid to venture more
than a few yards from the nest; but they rambled further by degrees,
though, whenever they returned to the oak, they took care to stop in a
tree at a little distance, that they might see if the enemy was not
lying in ambush for them near the hole. In this manner many days
passed, and they were beginning to hope that the wild-cat had quite
left the neighbourhood, when they had a conversation with Leatherwing
about this dreadful animal.

It was really surprising what a vast deal of information this funny
little fellow had picked up; but, perhaps, as he said himself, his
having lived so much in towns and villages, where he could overhear the
conversation of Man, might partly account for his cleverness.

From him the squirrels learned that these terrible wild-cats were
formerly very common in the neighbouring forests,[7] but that for many
years they had been gradually diminishing in numbers, and it was now
almost certain that the fierce beast which had caused them so much
alarm, was the last of her race in that part of the country. Wild-cats
are always much larger than the tame animals, but this creature was one
of the largest that had ever been seen or heard of. She was really a
formidable beast, and since she had taken up her abode in the
neighbourhood, she had done a great deal of mischief to the farmers by
killing their poultry, and even their young lambs. She had often been
chased by the gamekeepers and others, but long experience had made her
so watchful and cunning, that she had always escaped with her life,
though she had sometimes smarted a little from a few shot penetrating
her skin. But her fur was so thick and close that small shot could not
injure her much, unless fired from a very short distance, and she took
care that her enemies should not approach too near.

      [7] The wild-cat is now almost, if not quite extinct in England,
      except in the northern parts. It is still, however, to be met
      with in Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. But the numbers of these
      animals that have been killed in different parts of the country
      have no doubt been much over-rated, as it is well known that the
      domestic cat will sometimes stray into the woods, bringing forth
      its young there, living on birds and small quadrupeds, and
      becoming a terrible destroyer of game. When, therefore, one of
      these half-wild cats happens to resemble the true wild-cat in
      colour, (which is an indistinct tabby,) it is at once pronounced
      to be a specimen of that animal. But Mr. Bell, (who, however,
      differs from almost all other naturalists on this point,)
      considers that the native wild-cat of Britain is quite a distinct
      species from the domestic cat, and that the latter does not owe
      its origin to the wild animal at all, though from what country
      the breed has been derived he is at a loss to determine.

Such dreadful tales did Leatherwing relate of the extraordinary cunning
and fierceness of this hideous animal! When he had finished, the
squirrels became so terrified that they ran and hid themselves in their
snug retreat, declaring to each other that they never should be happy
till they were sure that the monster had been killed. They were
particularly uneasy too about their young ones, who were now grown so
strong that they were able to leave the nest; but their parents never
allowed them to go out of their sight, or to ramble beyond the branches
of the oak.

One day Brush said to his partner, "Well, this is miserable work! I
declare I have no peace night or day, but am always thinking or
dreaming about this horrid wild-cat; I almost wish I had never been
born, or at least, that I had been a water-rat, or, better still, that
curious fellow called a mole, that Leatherwing talked to me about
once."

"And where does this mole live?" said Mrs. Brush.

"Why, he spends almost all his life under the ground, and though it
must be very dark and damp there, he is at least safe from being eaten
up by wild beasts. He makes famous long caverns, branching out from
each other and in one place he has a very comfortable nest, lined with
dry grass and leaves, and among the roots of some tree he makes what
Leatherwing called his fortress, because he always goes there when he
is frightened. And all these nice places are safe under the ground. Oh!
I really wish I was a mole! The wild-cat might come as soon as she
pleased, then."

"I think she would scratch the earth up with her great claws, and pull
you out of your fortress, as you call it."

"How could she? Why there are I don't know how many caverns, all
leading from the fortress, and I could easily escape by one or other of
them. Then I could dig through the earth a great deal faster than she
could, if I were a mole; for Leatherwing says, that his fore-feet are
amazingly large and strong. Oh! ten times stronger than mine! Then he
never goes to sleep much more in the winter than in the summer, for
when the ground is frozen hard, all he has to do is to dig down a
little deeper, till he finds the earth soft; so he never cares what
sort of weather it is, and he has no need to trouble himself about
laying up a store of provisions for the winter. Oh! it must be very
nice to be a mole!"

"I should be afraid that my eyes would be filled with dust and dirt,
when I was digging under the ground."

"_Your_ great staring eyes would, I dare say, but the mole's are very
different. They are so small, and covered over with fur, that he is
sometimes thought to be quite blind.[8] For, as Leatherwing says,
people _are_ so stupid and ignorant! But I believe the mole's little
eyes are not often of much use to him, for he seldom comes out of his
caverns, and when he does it is at night. I think he would be much
wiser to keep _always_ under ground, and then he would be quite safe. I
asked old Leatherwing how the mole could find out his food, as he
always lives in the dark, and he said that his nose is more useful to
him than his eyes, for he can smell anything at a great distance."

      [8] That acute observer, Aristotle, has been accused of
      inaccuracy, in saying, that the mole is absolutely blind. It
      has, however, been ascertained that in the South of Europe there
      exists another species of mole, the eyelids of which are _totally
      closed_, and it was probably this animal that fell under the
      observation of Aristotle. The mole has never been found in any
      part of Ireland.

"And what can he find to eat under ground, I should like to know?"

"Horrible! I forgot all about that when I wished to be a mole. His
food, I can hardly bear even to talk about it! He lives almost entirely
on _worms_! Horrid, long, twining worms! Oh! I had rather be hunted by
the wild-cat every day, than eat such disgusting food as that. No, no,
I don't wish to change places with the mole now, I am sure."

So as Brush had neither the inclination nor the power to be transformed
into a worm-devourer, he was obliged to be content with his situation
as a _nut-cracker_.




CHAPTER VI.


Time passed rapidly on, and the autumn drew near. The young squirrels
were now become so strong and active, and so fond of scampering about,
that their parents could hardly prevent them from rambling away by
themselves much further than was safe for them. One morning Brush was
almost certain that he had seen their terrible enemy in a distant tree,
and as his children happened to be unusually frolicsome just then, and
determined to have their own way, he thought he would try to keep them
at home, by relating a little story which he had heard at different
times, from Leatherwing.

The old fellow said, that, one evening, as he was flying about in a
garden, he observed a very young lady sitting in a summer-house,
holding in her hand the smallest mouse he had ever seen, fastened by a
string and a leather collar round its neck. So, as the bat was of a
very inquisitive, prying disposition, he hung himself up to the ceiling
of the summer-house, determined to overhear the conversation that was
going on below. It appeared that the mouse was relating his adventures
to his mistress. Now to tell you the truth, this little history has no
connexion with the other parts of my tale; so if you are in a very
great hurry to get to the end of the book, you can skip it altogether,
but I hope you will not behave so rudely to a poor author, who has
really done his best to entertain his readers.

Leatherwing's tale was called--

    SOME PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF THE SMALLEST QUADRUPED IN THE
    WORLD.[9]

      [9] When this was written, I was not aware that there existed in
      other countries a quadruped still more diminutive than our little
      harvest-mouse. However, as "Minimus" declares that he was much
      smaller than others of his species, the title of his history may
      still be correct.

"Don't push and squeeze so Tiney! you take up more room than three or
four of us."

"What a story! It is you Softsides, that want to have half the nest for
yourself."

"Yes," squeaked sister Sleek, "and he has almost scratched my poor eye
out,--the cross creature! only because I asked him to let me suck when
he had had enough, and he knew how dreadfully thirsty I was."

"Be quiet children, will you?" said mamma; "and let me go to sleep. You
forget what a terrible headache I have, and how tired I am with running
away from that frightful weasel that chased me almost to death this
morning. I should like to know what you would have done if he had
caught me! Now mind! if I hear any more quarrelling, as surely as a
grain of wheat has a husk, I will kick some of you out of the nest, and
let the weasel or the owl make a meal of you."

This little specimen of a family quarrel, which took place when my
brothers and sisters and myself were a few days old, and were not so
large as hazel-nuts, is the earliest circumstance of my life of which I
have any recollection. At this time we were eight in number, and though
all of the same age, I was much the smallest and weakest of the brood,
for which reason I suppose they called me "Mini-mus," or "the little
mouse." My brothers and sisters despised me so for my poor health, and
were so cross and tyrannical, that I verily believe I should have
perished in infancy if my mother had not taken pity on me, and allowed
me to suck sometimes out of my turn. The truth is, I was rather a
favourite with my dear mamma; why, I cannot imagine, for I was a
miserable looking little object, and was often very cross and rude to
her. But since I have seen more of the world, I find that mothers of
your species, my dear mistress, often show the strongest attachment to
those children who are the most worthless in mind and body, and the
least deserving of their affection.

Well! thanks to my dear mother's care, I got through my infancy pretty
well, though I am still much smaller than the rest of my family. But if
you could have seen my poor brother Softsides! oh, he was a noble
animal! Will you believe it? he was nearly twice my size, and such a
runner and leaper! He made nothing of jumping up to our nest at one
bound, without taking the trouble to climb up in the usual way. But I
must leave Softsides for the present, and tell you what sort of a house
our careful mother had provided for us.

It was built on the top of a thistle at a little distance from the
ground, and was nicely sheltered from the wind and rain by a high close
hedge. It was as round as a ball, and was made entirely of the blades
of grass and small straws, carefully woven together like basket-work,
while the inside was as smooth and warm as possible; for there was only
one very small opening, and even that was closed at night, and in the
daytime when the weather was cold. A most delightfully warm, snug house
it was, I assure you; but as we increased in size, it became rather too
small for us, and, as I have already mentioned, we sometimes squabbled
a little for want of room. Indeed I once heard mamma saying to herself,
when she thought we were all asleep, "Well, if I had known that I
should have had such a large family I would have built a bigger house."
Now you must know that she was only one year old herself, and we were
her first brood of young ones. But though this was the first nest she
had ever made, she had shown great judgment in choosing a situation,
which was not, as is usually the case with our tribe, in a corn-field,
where both the nests and the inhabitants are often destroyed by the
reapers. Fearful of this dreadful disaster, our mother had built her
nest on a grassy bank, in an unfrequented meadow, in which there was no
public path, and where a few quiet sheep were our only companions. The
field adjoining ours was a wheat-field, and so we had an abundant
supply of food on the other side of the hedge.

For the first week or two we never left the nest; but mamma soon began
to feed us with seeds, and when our teeth were too weak to nibble hard
grains, she brought us the soft, unripe wheat, which was delicious
juicy food for tender infants.

Never shall I forget the terrible fright I was in the first time I
ventured to leave the nest, and clamber down the thistle-stalk to the
ground! My brothers and sisters had been down the day before, and
laughed at my timidity; and then they boasted that they had scrambled
up the bank, and looked through the hedge, into the wheat-field, where
they had seen the reapers at work; and they told me that they had been
terribly frightened by the barking of a large dog. But Softsides said
that _he_ was not frightened a bit, and that he only came back to the
nest because he wanted his dinner; and he declared that he would fight
the dog the next time he saw him.

Then they told me that they had seen a little girl in the wheat-field,
gathering flowers, and that they had heard her sing most
divinely--something about "Trip with me," and "the moon shining
bright." And Softy said that he had learned part of the song, and that
if we would give over prating so, and would listen to him, he would
sing it as sweetly as the little girl did. So he sat up on his hinder
parts, and began, "Trip with me, trip with me," but he made such a
funny whistling noise through his long front teeth, that we all laughed
till we cried. Then brother Softsides was angry, and bit my ear till I
cried most bitterly, without laughing at all.

The next day, with the help of mamma, I managed to get down to the
ground, and to climb up the bank; and in the wheat-field was the little
girl again, singing her pretty song, and gathering wild-flowers in the
hedge. But either because she had had more practice in singing than
Softy, or because her front teeth were not so long as his, her
performance was much more pleasing, to my ears at least, and I did not
feel at all inclined to laugh at her. Presently, another little girl,
who had been all the morning gleaning, came up to her, crying, and
complaining that somebody had stolen a large bunch of wheat that she
had collected and hid in a corner of the field. Then we saw that the
young lady with the sweet voice had a sweet disposition also, for she
gave the little gleaner her last sixpence, and sent her home as happy
as a bird.

[Illustration: THE HARVEST-MICE. Page 134.]

I was dreadfully tired with this expedition, and was quite lame for
several days after, with a thorn in my left hind-foot, but at last
mamma sucked it out for me. When it got well, I took courage to leave
the nest again, and joined my brothers and sisters in their games of
play, among the high grass, at the foot of the thistle, while mamma
would sit on the nest, keeping watch lest some enemy should approach.
As we became stronger and more courageous, we rambled further from
home, and when the distance was not too great, I generally joined the
party. All my family were now very kind to me, and I hope that I was
less pettish in my behaviour to them, for mamma had convinced us how
silly and wicked it is for brothers and sisters to quarrel with each
other.

And now I must tell you of the dreadful fate of brother Softsides. Poor
fellow! he was very vain of his running and leaping abilities, and at
last he perished miserably by his rashness. One fine afternoon, when we
were more than half grown, Softsides, Tiney, and Sleek set off for a
very long ramble along the hedge, nearly to the bottom of the field. I
was too weak to join the party, but sister Sleek gave me a particular
account of this unfortunate expedition. Softy was in very high spirits,
and was trying to make Tiney lay wagers of so many grains of corn,
about the distance he could leap. Fine fun they had, jumping and
tumbling about; but at last they came to a place where some labourers
had been dining, and had left a basket, with bread and cheese in it,
and a small keg of beer, or cider. Our party made a glorious meal on
the cheese, which was quite new food to them; and then Softsides said
he would try to leap on to the keg, to enjoy the beautiful prospect.
But sister Sleek begged him not to make the attempt, saying that she
was sure he would come to some mischief if he did. Now I must tell you,
that Sleek, though very demure and quiet in her manners, was considered
to be much the most sensible of all our family; and indeed mamma, who
was confined at home that day by a sprained ankle, had made her join
this exploring party, in the hopes that she would keep the boys out of
mischief.

"Now what harm can there possibly be in trying to jump on to this keg,
I should like to know?" said Softsides; "but sister Sleek, or _Meek_,
if you like that name better, you are always spoiling my fun."

"You may call me what name you like, Softy," replied his sister, "but I
feel quite convinced in my own mind that if you don't take my advice,
something dreadful will happen."

And sure enough something dreadful did happen--something very dreadful
indeed: for poor brother Softsides, taking a run of about a couple of
feet, jumped on to the fatal keg, pretty easily, but, alas! he never
jumped down again! for the heat of the sun had forced the bung out,
though we could not see this from the ground. Poor Softy saw it, when
too late, for he could not save himself from tumbling down headlong
into the keg, where he was soon drowned, while his brother and sister
were horrified by hearing him screaming for assistance, which they
could not possibly give him, and lamenting that he had not taken
Sleek's advice.

So Tiney and his sister came back, frightened and sorrowful enough, and
our cheerful home became a house of mourning. Mamma was in hysterics
all night, and I verily thought we should have lost her. But sister
Sleek, who knew something of the virtues of herbs, sent two of the boys
into the wheat-field for a red poppy-head, which she persuaded mamma to
eat, and soon after she became quiet, and slept all the next day and
night. Then we were terribly afraid that she had taken so much of this
powerful medicine that she would never wake again; and though Sleek
said that she was not at all alarmed, I am sure she seemed very nervous
and agitated, till at last our dear mother opened her eyes, and asked
for some food.

In one corner of our field was an old deserted stable, which we
sometimes visited, partly for the sake of a few horse-beans which we
found on the floor, and partly to have a chat with a very odd creature
who had taken up his abode there, and with whom we had formed a sort of
acquaintance. This creature was an immense _toad_, a very strange
companion, you will say, for a family of little mice. Certainly, he
_was_ an odd fellow, and a very ugly fellow too; but then he had the
most beautiful eyes in the world, and I am sure he gave us very good
advice, if we had been wise enough to have attended to it, instead of
laughing at his croaking voice, and formal manner of talking.

The first time we visited the hermit, as we called him, after the loss
of our brother, we were almost afraid to tell him of the accident,
expecting he would say that poor Softsides was rightly served, and that
we should all perish like him, by our folly, if we did not pay a little
more attention to the advice of our elders. But Toady had a more
feeling heart than you would have supposed from his manners and
appearance, and when he had heard the sad tale to an end, and we were
expecting a terrible lecture, he closed his searching eyes for a minute
or two, and then said,

"Children, I commiserate your distress. My spirit is pained, yea, what
if I say, sorely troubled and grieved, at this sad catastrophe!
Unfortunate Softsides! truly he was a handsome juvenal, and active of
limb withal. Know, my children, that he found favour in my sight, more
especially inasmuch as I have sometimes thought that I resembled him
not a little, both in feature and disposition, in the joyous days of my
youth. Leave me now to meditate for a season upon this grievous
visitation. In that corner you will find a few beans which I have
collected for you. Peradventure, when you have finished them, I may
relate some little tale or fable for your amusement. Yea, and for your
instruction also, if you will receive it."

So when we had finished the luncheon which the good hermit had provided
for us, we seated ourselves around the entrance of his hole, when,
after a few minutes' recollection, and his usual preparation for a
speech, by closing his eyes for a time, he related the following

    FABLE OF THE SUNFLOWER AND THE MIGNIONETTE.

A gigantic Sunflower reared his many-headed stem very far above all the
other plants in the parterre, and affected not a little to despise
their lowly condition and insignificance. A bed of Mignionette, which
grew close to him, particularly excited the anger of this arrogant
fellow. And "what," exclaimed he, "could the stupid gardener be
thinking of, when he planted such miserable, little half-starved
wretches as you in the same border as a kingly Sunflower! Does not my
very name declare my rank and noble origin, in token whereof, I never
fail to pay my respects to the glorious lord of the skies, by turning
my head towards him, whenever he deigns to remove the misty veil from
his countenance? But as for you---- By the by, do you ever mean to
blossom, or have you the vanity to say, that those yellowish tufts
(which at this height I can hardly distinguish from leaves) deserve the
name of flowers? Ridiculous! I have a great mind to say, that if the
mistress of this garden does not remove you, and some other of your
vulgar companions, a little further off, I won't expand another blossom
this summer; I'll kill myself in spite! I will, I declare!"

The Mignionette plants were so diverted at this threat, that for some
time they could not reply to his abusive speech. At length one of them
quietly said, "Vain babbler! to be angry at thy impertinence would
prove that we were as silly as thyself. But know this, thou
empty-pated, and worthless one,--though mean in appearance, and
dwarfish in stature, we are nevertheless especial favourites with our
mistress, who is so delighted with the rich perfume of our 'yellowish
tufts,' as thou hast the impertinence to call them, that she frequently
honours them with a place in her bosom. Flowers must be very scarce
before any of thy huge gaudy-coloured blossoms attain to that envied
situation, I trow. But thy pride will soon be humbled, for yesterday I
overheard our mistress complaining of thy encroaching shade, and
directing the gardener to root thee up, and cast thee forth, to rot
like a vile weed upon the dunghill, that the more humble inhabitants of
the flower-bed may benefit by the life-bestowing rays of that being
whom we all worship, though we are not honoured, like thyself, by
bearing his name. Lo! while I speak, the gardener draweth near with his
spade, and thy destruction is at hand."

                 *       *       *       *       *

Our hermit was explaining to us how we might derive instruction from
this fable, when suddenly a fierce weasel and a half-grown young one
bounced in through the open doorway; but fortunately for us poor
little mice they did not see us for half a minute, and this delay
enabled the worthy Toady to save our lives. Scrambling out of his
hole, with a great deal more activity than could be expected in such a
corpulent old gentleman, he exclaimed, "Enter speedily, my children!"
For once we followed his advice, without asking for a reason why; but
we had hardly time to take refuge, when Mother Weasel espied the last
tail whisking into the hole, and screeching out to her son, "A prey!
a prey! I thought I smelt mice!" at a single bound she reached the
entrance. She was too late, for our protector had backed his fat body
into the hole, which he fitted so exactly, that the smallest beetle
could hardly have passed him. "Friend Weasel," said he, "I dispute not
that thou mayst have _smelt_ mice, but this day shalt thou _taste_
none, if my protection availeth anything. Verily, it appeareth to me
that for once in thy life thou art baulked."

Now you must know that most animals are rather afraid to attack a toad,
believing that he is a magician, and has the power of injuring his
enemies by spitting at them. Whether this be true or not I cannot say,
but I am sure that our friend was the most quiet, inoffensive creature
on earth. But Mrs. Weasel seemed to think differently, for bounding
away towards the door-way, she said to her son, "Come along, my boy! my
nose tells me that they are nothing but little miserable harvest-mice.
Let us try if we cannot meet with some of the great fat field-mice in
the wheat-field, they are six times as large as these little wretches.
For my part I am not at all hungry, but 'tis glorious fun hunting them
to death."

But there was another animal close at hand, who was also very fond of
hunting, and for the same reason; because he thought it was "_glorious
fun_." This was the little terrier dog "Pepper," whose master, Farmer
Winter, had come into the meadow that morning, to see how his sheep
were getting on. Now it so happened that "Pep" took it into his random
head to visit the stable, and he entered exactly as Mistress and Master
W. were going out. Of course our situation prevented us from witnessing
this interesting meeting, but we heard a scuffle, and two loud squeaks,
which our protector, who saw the whole affair from the mouth of his
den, informed us were the last sounds ever uttered by the long-backed
mother and son. But though Pepper had kindly shaken our enemies to
death, we did not like to trust ourselves in his power, thinking that
he would most likely serve us in the same manner; so we remained
quietly in the hole, till our kind friend had seen that the coast was
clear, and then, having thanked him for his protection, we ran home as
fast as possible.

We passed by the dead bodies of the weasels, and found that they were
much handsomer animals than we had supposed, for though their backs
were ridiculously long, their colours were very pretty; a beautiful
reddish brown on the upper parts, but underneath they were as white as
snow, or as your frock, my dear mistress. The hermit informed us
afterwards, that they are the boldest animals for their size in the
world, and that they will sometimes kill even young rabbits and hares.
He said, that when a weasel attacks an animal so much larger than
himself, he sticks fast to his neck, and though the poor creature runs
away, he cannot get rid of his tormentor, but is soon exhausted and
killed. Toady said, he once saw a weasel seized by a kite, and carried
up into the air. After a little while, however, the bird began to fly
very oddly, as if in pain, and at last fell down quite dead, close to
the spot where the hermit was sitting. While he was in the air the
weasel had killed the kite by gnawing a great hole in his side. So they
both came down together, but the conqueror was not at all injured by
his fall.

After our fortunate escape, nothing worth relating occurred till the
day I was caught by that cruel boy from whose hands you so kindly
rescued me. Being now nearly full grown our mother allowed us to take
care of ourselves in the daytime, but she made two of my sisters and
myself sleep in the nest with her at night.

One morning, wishing to see a little of the world, I set off by myself
across the meadow, intending to visit a pleasant little wood we could
just see from the bank above our house. But I had hardly reached the
middle of the field, when a tremendous hail-storm came on. Oh! what a
dreadful predicament I was in! The sheep had eaten down the grass so
close that it gave me no shelter whatever, neither could I find any
hole or crack to creep into, till the storm was over. So I made the
best of my way back again, though dreadfully bruised by the
hail-stones, and at last a very heavy one struck me such a blow on the
top of my head, that I was quite stunned; and I can remember nothing
more, till I found myself in the hands of your papa's stable-boy, Tom.
He had picked me up, when looking for mushrooms in the meadow, and
thought perhaps that I should make a nice breakfast for his kitten. But
when he found me come to life again, he said he would tame me, and make
me draw a little pasteboard cart to amuse his sister Jenny. You cannot
think how cruelly he used me, and how he made my lips bleed by forcing
an iron bit into my mouth. And then he almost killed me by trying to
make me swallow raw meat, which is a sort of food none of our species
can abide. Truly, I should never have lived to have related this
history, if you had not come into the stable-yard to see the young
rabbits. Most fortunately for me, you were singing your favourite song.
I remembered the words and the sweet clear voice instantly, and I said
to myself, "Perhaps the young lady that was so kind to the little
gleaner, may have compassion on a poor harvest-mouse." You know the
rest: I squeaked with all my might; you heard me, and soon persuaded
Tom to give up his prize in exchange for a dozen fine apples from your
own little tree.

And now, my dear kind mistress, will you not fulfil your promise, and
give me my liberty? I have been very happy with you, but I long
exceedingly to return to the beautiful green bank again, and to see
dear mamma, who must be dreadfully anxious about me, for it is now six
days since I left the nest. Hold me up to your face, and let me read my
fate in your beautiful eyes, which I declare are almost as bright and
dark as my mother's. Bring me closer, quite close, for I am rather
near-sighted. That will do. Oh joy! I see by those sweet sparklers,
that my petition is granted, and that I shall sleep to-night by my
mother's side in the downy nest on the thistle.

                 *       *       *       *       *

When this history was finished, Leatherwing said, that the little girl
pressed her captive to her lips, and then, putting on her straw hat,
she immediately walked out into the fields, with Minimus perched upon
her hand.




CHAPTER VII.


It was now the season for collecting nuts, acorns, and beech-mast; and
it was time that the squirrels attended to the important business of
filling their several storehouses with a supply of provisions for the
winter.

Now their own oak would furnish acorns for hundreds of squirrels, and
some beech-trees, laden with mast, were close at hand; but in order to
procure hazle-nuts, their favourite food, it was necessary to go rather
further from home. The nearest spot where the business of nutting could
be carried on with much success, was a large hazel-copse, on the side
of a hill, at the upper end of the valley. But the great difficulty
was, how to obtain these nuts without risking their lives. For since
the appearance of the wild-cat in the neighbourhood the squirrels had
always avoided the thick bushes and underwood, knowing that she could
more easily surprise them there, than among the open branches of large
trees. Even in the trees they were very careful to look well about
them, as they fully believed that the enemy was still in the
neighbourhood, for Leatherwing, who had promised to give them early
information, could hear no account of her having been killed. Indeed,
he had very lately overheard a farmer complaining to a neighbour, that
the night before, he had had three fine lambs killed, and several
others sadly mangled by this destructive wild beast.

But to pass the tedious winter without a supply of nuts appeared as
great a hardship to the squirrels as it would be to us to live for
several months upon bread and water. Therefore, after several
consultations on the subject, it was at length agreed, that _nuts
they would have_, at all hazards; for said Brush, "Better to be eaten
up by the wild-cat than starved." So one fine morning the whole party
set off to the hazel-copse.

Now this reminds me of the happy hours I have myself passed in the
woods, when I have joined a merry party of my young friends on one of
those most joyful occasions, a _nutting expedition_. How can a day be
passed more pleasantly? Oh! the delight of gathering the lovely brown
clusters of five or six, or even sometimes seven or eight together!
Then the dinner by the side of the clear stream, whose pure waters
furnish not the least grateful part of the repast! and the notes of
unrestrained merriment and joy, filling the woods with the echoes of
sweet young voices! Even the torn frocks, and scratched hands and arms,
are disregarded; and they are such common attendants upon these joyous
expeditions, that to return from them with perfectly whole garments and
_skins_, would imply that the bag of nuts might have been heavier, if
the party had been less fearful of the brambles and thorns. Now for the
squirrels again.

The nuts were exactly in that state in which I like to find them--quite
full and brown, and _almost_ ready to fall out of their husks. But not
_quite_ ripe enough to do this, for then a great many are shaken out
upon the ground, and lost. But the nuts were in perfection, and our
party were employed the whole day in journeying backwards and forwards,
between the hazel-copse and their storehouses in the old oak. No
wild-cat or other enemy appeared, and the young squirrels began to
think that their parents' continual cautions to be on the look out for
this animal were unnecessary.

The next day the party were again hard at work, and even the old
squirrels were so busily employed in filling their own mouths, and in
teaching their children how to select the ripest and soundest nuts,
that they seemed almost to have forgotten that they had a single enemy
in the world. They had already made several journeys, and were now
eagerly engaged in some large old hazel-trees, close to a wide pathway,
which had been cut through the wood for the convenience of the
sportsmen. Suddenly Brush perceived, partly concealed among the thick
underwood, a dark, fearful-looking object, which--_could_ it be the
dreaded foe, or was it only the brown trunk of a tree? He was not long
in doubt, for now the head of the monster appeared from among the
leaves, and then those savage eyes! having once seen them how could he
possibly mistake their terrible glances? Brush was so frightened, that
he absolutely allowed three remarkably fine nuts to fall out of his
mouth upon the ground, and at last he gave the note of alarm. "Fly all
of you," cried he, "the enemy is close at hand!" Then he recovered
sufficient presence of mind to remember how he had himself escaped from
his pursuer in the oak, and he desired his family to retreat to the
small outer branches of the trees, where they would but just support
their weight, for he knew that the young ones were too small and weak
to make their escape by flight.

But this clever plan did not succeed so well in these low nut-trees as
among the lofty branches of the oak, where a tumble to the ground would
most likely have broken some of the adversary's bones. The cunning
beast appeared to understand the difference between the two situations,
but for a minute or two she remained motionless, as if she were
planning the best way of making her attack. At last, with a single
bound she was in the tree. She fearlessly dashed at one of the young
squirrels, who sat trembling at the farther end of a branch,
overhanging the pathway; it gave way beneath her weight, and both
animals fell to the ground below. But while the poor little squirrel
was so shaken by the fall that he could only crawl slowly away, the
cat, like all animals of her kind, pitched unhurt upon her feet,[10]
and was just upon the point of seizing her prey in her terrible hooked
claws, when bang!--the report of a gun from the adjoining thicket.

      [10] It is well known that cats have the power of turning
      themselves over in the air, so as to bring their legs undermost,
      when they fall, or are thrown, from a height; but how this
      desirable change of position is brought about or maintained, it
      is not very easy to explain. One would have supposed that the
      centre of gravity would have brought the _back_ undermost. To
      prove that these animals _do_ possess the power of turning over
      in the air, take a cat, or a kitten, and hold her by her four
      feet, two in each of your hands, with her back downwards, at
      about the height of the table from the ground. Now if you open
      both your hands suddenly, your assistant in the experiment will
      change her position almost as quickly as a shuttlecock turns
      round when struck by the battledore, and will alight safely on
      her feet. But if you hold her at a _very short_ distance from the
      ground, poor puss will not have time to execute her clever feat,
      and will fall on her back. Therefore, for her sake, practise this
      experiment _over a bed_.

Here I must inform you, that Harvey, the gamekeeper, who had long been
looking out for the destroyer, had this morning been informed by some
boys who were nutting in the copse, that they had seen her running
across an open space, with a fine cock pheasant in her mouth. Now the
keeper had found, from his experience on two former occasions, that it
was useless to fire small shot at an animal who had such a defence in
her thick close fur, and who was too wary to allow him to approach very
near. Therefore, giving his double-barrelled fowling-piece into the
hands of his son, a lad of about fourteen, who accompanied him, he
armed himself with a _rifle_, which is a gun made on purpose for
throwing bullets very accurately, to a long distance. He left all his
dogs at home, thinking they would be of more harm than use.

Harvey and his boy had already been some hours in the wood, and were
beginning to think that they had received false information, when young
Dick, who was a remarkably sagacious, intelligent fellow, suddenly
stopped his father, and pointed to some trees at a little distance.

"Well, lad," whispered Harvey, "what dost see now?"

"Look at those squirrels, father!"

"I see 'em plain enough, but it won't do. Though if it wasn't for
master's orders, I should like to try the rifle upon one of 'em, I must
say."

"No, no, father," replied Dick, "that isn't what I mean. But only look
at them! They aint eating, nor doing nothing, but they have all got
their heads one way, and they stick themselves up as if they were
frightened at something. Depend upon it, father, the wild-cat isn't far
from those squirrels, if she is in the wood at all."

"_I see!_" replied his father: "that's as bright a thought as ever came
into thy head, son Dick! But we have no chance among these plaguy thick
bushes. We must creep quietly out into the path, and then perhaps we
may get a shot at the varmint."

So the two cat-hunters concealed themselves behind a tree, by the side
of the path, and just as the wild-cat was pouncing upon her prey, a
ball from the keeper's well-directed rifle laid her howling upon the
ground, with the bone of her hind-leg smashed to atoms.

But he who supposes that one of these ferocious animals is conquered
merely because her leg is broken, will find himself very much mistaken.
A wild-cat conquered! no, indeed! You may kill her, but she _never
yields_, so long as she has any life remaining. And so Harvey found to
his cost. For when he saw the animal rolling upon the ground, supposing
her to be mortally wounded, he ran up towards her, intending to finish
the affair with a blow from the butt end of his rifle. Now this
imprudent conduct proved that he had never encountered a wounded
wild-cat before. No sooner had he approached within a few yards of her,
than, regardless of her broken leg, she sprang upon him like a fury,
and before he could aim a blow at her, she was at his throat, with her
fore-legs clasped round his neck.

Frightful! only imagine the horrors of such an embrace! In vain poor
Harvey strove with all his might to cast off the savage creature from
him, and I cannot tell how the affair might have ended, if Dick had not
been at hand to render assistance. Waiting for a favourable opportunity,
he put the muzzle of his gun close to the creature's body, and firing
both barrels at once, in his eagerness to do the business effectually,
he made such a terrible hole in her side, that, if she had had nine
hundred lives, instead of the usual moderate number of nine, they would
all have taken flight through the wound in an instant. She fell to the
ground, a mangled, blackened corpse.

And how did poor Harvey escape? Better than could have been expected,
considering the powerful teeth and claws of his adversary. To be sure,
he was pretty severely bitten and scratched, but his wounds were not
dangerous; and when he had recovered his breath, and wiped the blood
from his face, the first thing he did was to stretch his vanquished foe
at her full length upon the ground. Then laying his rifle by her side,
he said to Dick, "She's full four feet long, if she's an inch, and I
have gained my wager! I laid a bet of a guinea, with Lord
What's-his-name's keeper, that she would turn out to be four feet long,
and so she is, and more, as I can tell by the length of this barrel.
But only look at her teeth, Dick, and her terrible claws!"

"And what a great bushy tail!" said Dick, rubbing it through his hands;
"and see, father, 'tis the same size from end to end, and quite black
at the tip, just as that learned stranger gentleman up at the hall said
that all real wild-cats were."

"A learned gentleman! Let me tell thee, son Dick, if thee hadst had thy
face and hands clawed to pieces like mine are, thee wouldst have said
the varmint was _wild_ enough, in all conscience, without waiting for
any _learned gentleman_ to tell thee so. How my face do smart to be
sure! And look at my new jacket! All burnt and torn to pieces! 'T was a
wonder my arm wasn't blown off too. Well, boy, 't was a bold shot, and
I can't tell what I should have done if somebody hadn't been by. But
come, throw the beast over thy shoulder. I must go home and get mother
to put some plaister on these bites and scratches."

At the very beginning of this fierce conflict, all the squirrels,
except the father of the family, fled from the scene of action, and in
five minutes they were safe in the nest. But Brush was so determined to
see the end of the affair, that he remained concealed in the
hazel-tree, till Dick had fired the finishing shot; and then, being
convinced that he had nothing more to fear from his old enemy, he
scampered off to his home, to relate what he had seen.




CHAPTER VIII.


I have not much more to tell you about "Squirrels and other Animals,"
for by the time the tenants of the oak-tree had collected a good stock
of provisions, the weather had become rather cold and dismal, and it
seemed likely that the winter would set in very early that year. But
the time for their long sleep was not yet quite arrived, and on fine
days they were still to be seen abroad, roaming about from tree to
tree, and sometimes bringing home a few more nuts and acorns. But to
find these they were now obliged to search on the ground, for the wind
had shaken the ripe fruit from the trees. Now they were relieved from
the dread of being seized by their terrible enemy, they could ramble
about where they pleased.

One day as they were rummaging about among the dry leaves, under the
hazel-bushes, the squirrels fell in with the very oddest creature they
had ever seen. They had heard from Leatherwing that such an animal
lived in the woods, but they did not think they should ever meet with
him, as the bat had told them that he never came abroad till it was
dark. But the old fellow was mistaken a little for once in his life,
for here this most extraordinary looking creature certainly was, in the
middle of the day.[11] From the description Brush had received of this
animal, he knew at once that he was one _Touchmenot_, a hedgehog; and
that though he was considered to be rather a queer-tempered fellow, he
was not likely to do him any harm. But the young squirrels and their
mother were so frightened at his very warlike appearance, that they
leaped up into the bushes overhead.

      [11] I can bear witness, that hedgehogs are not always nocturnal
      animals, having more than once seen them running about in the
      daytime, and I remember capturing one that was trotting across
      the corner of a field when the mid-day sun was shining brightly.
      And if the hedgehog occasionally kills snakes, as Mr. Bell
      informs us, how can he meet with these animals by night, when
      they are invariably safe in their holes?

[Illustration: THE SQUIRREL AND THE HEDGEHOG. Page 189.]

Brush remained on the ground, but his family observed that he took care
to keep close to the stem of a small tree, for he thought that if his
new acquaintance should become uncivil, he could not possibly climb up
after him. After the two animals had looked at each other for some time
in silence, Touchmenot began the conversation.

                 *       *       *       *       *

TOUCHMENOT.

Well! what d'ye stare at? What d'ye want? Never saw me before, eh? Hope
you will remember me when we meet again, for you have looked at me long
enough, I am sure, with those great black eyes of yours.

Oh! don't be frightened! You may stare at me till you are blind for all
I care. I'm not ashamed of myself. Oh dear no! Well, now you have
examined me pretty well, who d'ye think I am, eh?

BRUSH,

(_Rather frightened at the surly address of the stranger_).

I believe you are called Mr. Touchmenot, are you not, Sir?

TOUCHMENOT.

Touchmenot, indeed! What fool told you that? Well, I don't care, they
may call me so if they please. Ha! ha! no bad name neither! _Touch me
not_, I advise you, or you will smart for it! So _that's_ the name they
give me, is it? Oh, with all my heart! And what else have you heard
about me, Mr. Greateyes?

BRUSH.

Oh, nothing very particular. Yes, now I recollect, I have heard that
you have got a very odd way of defending yourself, by rolling up into a
ball, when you see any animal coming that you think is an enemy.

TOUCHMENOT.

That I _think_ is an enemy? I consider _all_ animals my enemies. Except
my own family, I don't believe I have a friend in the world. My comfort
is, that I am very well able to take care of myself; and yet I can
neither fly like a bird, nor run like a hare, nor swim like a fish, nor
leap like yourself. No, I can do none of these; but I can _roll up_,
and so set all my enemies at defiance; and I had half a mind to have
done so when I first saw you, but it was hardly worth while, for you
are much smaller than I am, and, besides, to tell you the truth, you
look rather like a good-tempered fellow. Now what other tales have you
heard about my doings?

BRUSH.

Why if you wont be angry, I was going to say, though I didn't believe
it at the time, but I _have_ heard it said that you are _rather fond of
milk_, and don't mind sucking the farmers' cows sometimes.

TOUCHMENOT.

So you have heard that ridiculous story, have you? Well, you say you
don't believe it, so I sha'n't take the trouble to prove what a
monstrous fib it is. Now then, I'll tell you what I have heard about
_you_. I have heard that you _are rather fond of nuts_, and that, not
content with eating as many as you can possibly cram, you are such a
glutton that you carry a great many home with you, on purpose to stuff
yourself with in the winter.

BRUSH.

Well, and what harm? Nuts are very wholesome food, I am sure. And don't
_you_ lay up any store of provisions for the winter, then?

TOUCHMENOT.

Not I, indeed! I am better employed in the winter than in eating. I
sleep _all_ the winter, Mr. Nutcracker! When the weather gets a little
colder, perhaps in a few days, I shall creep into my snug nest which I
have made under the roots of a great tree. There I shall roll myself
up, in my bed of dry leaves, and when once fairly asleep, I am safe
till next spring. Nothing can make _me_ wake up. What a fool I should
be to trouble myself about collecting a quantity of food for the
winter, when I am sound asleep all the time!

BRUSH.

And what do you live upon, when you _are_ awake, if it isn't an unfair
question?

TOUCHMENOT.

Oh, I am not very particular. Almost anything will do at a pinch. I
often make a meal upon roots and vegetables, when I can find nothing
else. But I like animal food much better, such as insects, worms,
snails, bird's eggs, frogs, mice, and now and then I dine upon a snake
when I can contrive to catch him. Well! what's the matter now? What do
you jump up into the tree for?

BRUSH.

Oh, shocking! I never heard anything so dreadful in my life! I beg your
pardon. I mean, I should not like to dine upon snake at all.

TOUCHMENOT.

Very likely not. Tastes differ, you know. But here comes a gentleman
who will most certainly _dine upon you_, if you don't get up a little
higher into the tree; for though he can't climb, he is a pretty good
leaper. For my part, I scorn to run away from any animal, large or
small. Stay where you are, and you will see some fun.

                 *       *       *       *       *

The animal that now approached was a hungry young fox, who would
certainly have made a meal of the squirrel if he could have caught him.
But after trying to reach him, by jumping till he was tired, he gave it
up at last for a bad job; and then, spying the hedgehog, he dashed at
him, as if he had intended to have swallowed him at a single mouthful.
But Touchmenot was quite prepared for the attack, for he had rolled
himself up into a round ball, with nothing but sharp spines sticking
out on every side; and when the fox attempted to seize his prey, you
would have laughed to have seen how very much surprised and
disappointed he looked. As he was but young, though he appeared more
than half-grown, I suppose he had never seen a hedgehog before, or he
would not have acted so imprudently, for he pounced upon this ball of
spines as he would upon a rabbit, or a pheasant, but he soon found out
his mistake, and retreated to a little distance, howling dismally, and
licking his bleeding lips and nose.

When he recovered a little from his surprise, he made another attempt.
But now he proceeded more cautiously, and rolled old Touchmenot over
and over with his paws, hoping to find some part of him that was not
protected by this spiny coat of armour. He could make nothing of it!
This strange-looking ball was spines above, spines below--strong, sharp
spines on every side. It was really very provoking, for it contained a
nice meal inside, no doubt, if he could but get at it.

After watching his vain attempts for some time, the squirrels saw that
the fox had no chance of succeeding, and they made the best of their
way home, keeping on the trees for fear he should leave Touchmenot, and
follow them instead. However, they had nothing to fear from this silly
young fellow, for he seemed fully occupied in rolling this tiresome
ball about, but how long he continued his amusement, I cannot tell.
However, I must inform you, that the hedgehog boasted rather too much,
when he said he could set _all_ his enemies at defiance, by his strange
plan of defence; for though very few animals will venture to attack him
when rolled up, it sometimes happens that a thoroughly game and
courageous terrier-dog will seize him, and kill him too, in spite of
his prickly armour. Of course, his own lips and mouth must suffer
severely from the animal's sharp spines.

A week or two after the interview with the hedgehog, one very cold
dismal afternoon, all the squirrels were in the nest, except the father
of the family, and he was gone abroad for a short time, just to stretch
his legs a little. Suddenly he darted into the hole, as if he had been
pursued by another wild-cat, and when he was asked what was the matter,
he exclaimed, "_Snow!_ cold, dismal _snow_! Flakes of snow as large as
white butterflies, and falling so thickly that I could hardly see my
way back to the nest! Here I am, however, and here I mean to stay till
fine weather comes again. It will be a long while before that happens
though, I fancy."

Brush was a true prophet. The weather became colder and colder every
day, till at last, after a sharp frosty night, the squirrels quite
forgot to wake up in the morning, and then their first long nap of
several weeks began. If you could have looked in upon them in their
comfortable nest, you could hardly have believed that the little curled
up squirrels, with their blankets over their heads, were the same
active, playful creatures, whose summer gambols among the branches had
afforded you so much amusement.

Well, then, there _can_ be nothing more to say about these sleeping
squirrels, and now I must inform you what effect the cold weather had
upon the other animals, whose summer habits have been imperfectly
described in this history. The dormice, in their nests at the bottom of
the oak-tree, and the water-rats, in their holes in the bank of the
pond, were sound asleep also; but all these animals had taken the
precaution to provide a store of provisions for the early part of the
spring, and in case they should wake up for a few days in the winter.
Now, with respect to the curious little water-shrew-mouse, Velvet-coat,
I am not quite so certain about his winter habits. But no doubt he
slept comfortably in his hole till the spring; and as he was an
insect-feeder, we may conclude that he followed the example of
Touchmenot, in not laying up any food for the winter.

If we could have questioned old Leatherwing, I think he would have told
us that the harvest-mice, whose history he overheard related by
Minimus, abandoned their nest on the thistle, and made themselves a
warmer house, deep under the ground, where they passed the cold weather
in sleeping, and now and then nibbling the grains of wheat which they
had buried with them. The bat has already related how he passed the
winter himself, and how he was obliged to waste some part of it in
sleep, not altogether from the effects of cold, but also from the want
of food.




CHAPTER IX.


Though the history of the squirrels and their companions was finished
in the last chapter, I still feel unwilling to part from my young
friends, who have kindly taken some interest in the events I related
for their amusement. It is true, that in the following tale no mention
will be made of any of those "smaller British quadrupeds" of whose
"habits and instincts" the title-page has engaged to communicate some
information. But it is always better to do _more_ than _less_ than
we have promised. Therefore, perhaps you will not be displeased if this
little book should contain something that you did not expect to find
there, and I hope you will think this additional chapter not less
entertaining than those you have already read.

You may remember, that Leatherwing related to the squirrel the History
of Minimus, or "Some Passages in the Life of the smallest Quadruped in
the World." In the following pages, you will find a companion to the
bat's story, and the title shall be,

    SOME PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF THE LARGEST QUADRUPED IN THE
    WORLD!

As inquisitive readers may perhaps wish to be informed by what means
the following little history came into my possession, I will endeavour
to satisfy them as to its authenticity, by telling them that it was
related to me by an old man, a native of Sumatra, in which island, "the
largest quadrupeds in the world" are, or were, abundant in a wild
state. This old fellow was cook on board the ship, "All's Well," in
which (fifty-three years ago,) I first went to sea as an apprentice,
and he was called "Jolly," but what his real name was no one on board
knew nor cared. He was a merry-hearted old man, and had made himself
a great favourite, especially with us boys, by his extraordinary
abilities in "_spinning a good yarn_," as the sea-phrase goes, meaning
neither more nor less than telling a good story. The following strange
history was a favourite "yarn" of old Jolly's; and though it is now
more than half a century since I first heard it, it is still fresh in
my memory, having so often related it to my little brothers, who, on my
return home, were always very eager in their inquiries about "the
doings of the dreadful wild-beasts of foreign countries."

But I must mention, that our old friend Jolly boasted of other
accomplishments more extraordinary than story-telling, such as the art
of foretelling future events, of understanding the language of birds
and beasts, and he sometimes hinted, that he had the dangerous power of
killing an enemy who might be five hundred leagues distant, by the
performance of certain magical ceremonies. Perhaps you are not disposed
to believe that Jolly was such a clever old fellow. Well, I cannot help
it. I have no time now to endeavour to convince you, but here is his
story, though not in his own words, for if I had not corrected his bad
English, the narrative would be almost unintelligible to those who were
not accustomed to his extraordinary mixture of languages.

                 *       *       *       *       *

(JOLLY _begins his Story_.)

Tell you about the elephants again? Why, I have given you a dozen
stories at least about them this voyage! Well, if you must have it,
here goes.

You must know, then, that about two years before, (like a great fool
that I was,) I left my dear native island: I accompanied my father, and
twenty or thirty of our tribe, on an elephant-catching expedition, to
the banks of a large river more than fifty miles from our village. We
were five days on our journey, for we had to pass through deep and
tangled forests. As our object was merely to procure the valuable
tusks, which we bartered at the Dutch settlement, for linen cloth, and
other European articles, we did not attempt to take our game alive, but
contented ourselves with digging deep pit-falls in the forest-paths
made by the elephants in their visits to the river-side; for you must
know that elephants are very fond of bathing and splashing about in the
water. These pits of ours were slightly covered over with branches of
trees and grass, and at the bottom we fixed a strong, sharp-pointed
stake, on which, when they tumbled down headlong, the unwieldy animals
were impaled and killed. We always took care to bait our traps with
green boughs and tempting fruits. When we were so fortunate as to
entrap an elephant in this manner, some of our party would descend to
cut out the valuable tusks with a hatchet; and as we were quite unable
to raise the immense carcass out of the pit, we were obliged to fill it
up and dig another.

This method of catching elephants was generally adopted by our nation,
for at that time fire-arms were not in use among us. But I have heard
that in some countries, when the hunters wish to take the animals
alive, they make large enclosures of very strong stakes, and employ
tame elephants to entice the wild ones inside, when the door is shut,
and they are immediately bound fast with ropes, and kept without food
for several days, till they are partly tamed. But I must return to our
expedition.

At this time we were very unfortunate indeed. Though the herd of
elephants was numerous, and we had dug a great number of pit-falls,
more than a week had passed, and we had made only one capture, a very
young animal whose tusks were hardly worth taking home. This bad luck
was not occasioned by our want of skill, for some of our party, my
father and elder brother in particular, were the most experienced
hunters of our nation, and our traps were covered over and baited with
the greatest care. It was of no use; after the little fellow who met
with his fate on the second day of our falling in with the herd, not a
single elephant would venture his life for the most tempting baits we
could select; and in some places where the path was so narrow that
there was no room to pass the trap, these provoking animals would
either return, or make another track by the side of it, by tearing up
the trees with their trunks, and trampling down the bushes and
underwood.

"This will never do!" said my father; "these rascals are too cunning
for us. We must find another herd. If we do not get some ivory soon,
the Dutch ships will have left the port, and then we shall not be able
to sell our tusks for a pretty while."

So it was agreed, that the next day we would move further up the river,
in hopes of falling in with a less sagacious herd. But the same
afternoon a circumstance occurred which explained the cause of our want
of success in a very satisfactory manner, to _me_ at least, though some
of our company were so stupid as to say that what I am now going to
relate was all nonsense, and that I had been dreaming.

I was stationed in the upper part of a lofty tree within view of one of
our pit-falls, when I perceived three elephants approaching. Two were
of moderate size, but the third was by far the largest animal I had
ever seen or heard of. He seemed almost decrepit with age, and had a
very remarkable appearance, from one of his immense tusks being broken
off, leaving a ragged stump of about a foot in length. He and his
companions had been enjoying a cool bathe in the river, as I could
perceive from the light-coloured mud on their legs and sides, and their
way lay directly by the trap I was appointed to watch. But this peril
they took especial care to avoid. However, I observed the old elephant
point at it with his trunk, whereupon they all three tossed up their
heads with an indignant snort. So they paced leisurely along till they
reached my tree, at the foot of which, the old gentleman, apparently
exhausted with fatigue, threw himself down on his side so suddenly,
that he occasioned a partial earthquake. The others kept watch by him.

After lying perfectly still for about an hour, during which time, we
may safely conclude that he was refreshed by a comfortable nap, the
venerable patriarch raised his immense bulk till he was in a sort of
squatting posture, and began to converse with his companions; but I was
at such a great height above him, that I could only catch a word or two
here and there. But what are you laughing at, Bill Stacey? Do you think
everybody is as deaf and as stupid as yourself? You had better say at
once that you don't believe I could understand the elephant's language,
and then I'll leave off and turn in for the rest of the watch. Well,
then, behave yourself, my boy, and don't interrupt me any more, or I
won't say another word to-night.

Let me see, where was I? Oh, I told you that I was too high up in the
tree to make out what the elephants were saying, but no doubt their
conversation related to the pitfall, as the old fellow grumbled out the
words, "stupid idiots!" "shallow contrivance!" and "whoever saw fruit
growing on a beaten path?" Hoping to gain some useful information, I
now, with extreme caution, descended from the top of the tree till I
reached a branch about twenty feet from the ground, and concealed
myself among the thick leaves. For some time after I had been in this
situation there was a dead silence below, and I almost feared that the
elephants had heard or smelt me, and were meditating some mischief. But
there was a strong breeze blowing, and this prevented them from hearing
me. In a few minutes, the patriarch, after casting a very affectionate
glance on his companions, and giving utterance to a tremendous grunt,
which I suppose he meant for a _sigh_, though you might have heard it
at the distance of a mile, began a sort of history of his life, which I
will repeat, if Bill Stacey will be quiet.

                 *       *       *       *       *

(_The old_ ELEPHANT _speaks for himself at last_.)

True, my dear children, I have often promised to relate to you as much
as I can remember of my long life and experience, and as my increasing
bodily infirmities warn me that my days are drawing to a close, I
cannot do better than embrace this opportunity when we are not likely
to be interrupted by our companions.

I am now going to put you in possession of a secret, which I should be
very unwilling to make public. It is universally believed by our
company, that I have spent many years in the service of man, and that
at this period of my life, I acquired that knowledge of his ways which
has been so useful in enabling me to detect and avoid his wicked
devices for the destruction of our noble race. To this belief I am
indebted for the influence I possess in our councils, and though my
years and experience might still be respected, I am certain, that the
ungrateful herd, ever fond of change, would immediately choose a new
leader, if they had the least suspicion of what I am going to
communicate to you.

Know, then, my children, that I have never been a slave to the tyrant!
that I have never been that most abject of creatures, "_a tame
elephant_." No! my last days are not embittered by the consideration,
that I have ever in the smallest degree contributed to the happiness of
the two-legged monster. On the contrary, I am cheered by the
recollection, that a great part of my life has been spent in detecting
his tricks, and in thwarting his wicked designs. If our laws did not
forbid us to take the life of any creature except in self-defence, with
my knowledge of our enemies' weakness, we might easily take such
terrible vengeance, as would induce him at least to confine himself to
the neighbourhood of his own towns and settlements. But he cannot do us
much injury. So successful have I been in detecting his ridiculous
traps and pit-falls, that, for the last fifty years, not one of our
herd has fallen a victim to his vile designs, except the poor young
creature who threw his life away a few days ago, when, foolishly
confident in his own knowledge, he persisted in rambling about by
himself. Even in this melancholy affair, we may comfort ourselves that
we could better spare him than any other of his companions, and that
our enemies have gained little or nothing by his capture.

But you will ask, if I have never been the companion of man, by what
means have I obtained that superior intelligence and knowledge of his
arts, for which our tribe are pleased to give me credit? I answer,
simply by keeping my _eyes_ and my _ears_ open, and by remembering what
I have _seen_ and _heard_. Follow my example, my dear children, and if
you ever arrive at my age, you will no longer wonder at the extent of
my information.

Now let me endeavour to remember some of the most remarkable incidents
of my life. I have but a confused recollection of my very early
childhood, or of anything that happened before my thirteenth year, but
about that time I well remember I was in terrible distress at the loss
of my first tusks, and that my mother could hardly make me believe that
they would ever be replaced by others. But when these long-looked-for
second tusks really made their appearance, and had reached about the
length of my present miserable stump, I used to plague all my
acquaintance, by asking them whether they thought my tusks had grown
lately, or whether they would ever be as large and strong as our
leader's. At last I met with a cutting reproof from a surly old fellow,
who had often been pestered by me in this manner.

"You impertinent young scamp," said he, "what do I care about your
tusks, or whether they grow or not? One thing I know, and will tell you
for your comfort. If, when you grow up, your head should be as
deficient in _ivory_ as it is in _sense_, you need have no fear
whatever of the hunters, for I am sure you would not repay them for
the trouble of killing you."

This was very severe; but I must tell you that the old brute was
particularly cross on this occasion, for the day before he had been
terribly disappointed by not being chosen leader of the herd, and he
had found out, as I was afterwards informed, that he had lost his
election by the influence of my mother and some others of our family.

Well, my children, if I was once proud of my tusks, I have no cause for
such foolish vanity now with this hideous stump, though the other is
still nearly half as long again as any in the herd.

I will now relate to you how I first became acquainted with that
contemptible little animal, who has the vanity to call himself "the
lord of the creation." I think it was in my twentieth year, just at the
end of the rainy season, that our herd had approached within less than
fifty miles of the Dutch settlement, for the purpose of visiting a
tract of marshy land overrun with high canes, the tender tops of which,
you well know, are such delicious food. I was busily employed in a
cane-brake, close to the banks of the river, in company with my mother
and two of my younger brothers, when one of the latter, who had left us
for a few minutes to wash the clammy juice of the canes from his mouth
and trunk, returned in such haste and agitation, that for some time not
a sound could he utter, except unintelligible gruntings and
sputterings. At last, he stammered out, "Mother! mother! dreadful! I
have seen such a thing! Great monstrous monkeys, with long poles in
their paws, and sitting upright on the backs of immense deer, or some
such creatures, only they have got no horns on their heads!"

Upon this, my mother, raising her trunk high in the air, immediately
sounded the well-known signal of alarm, and saying to us, "Follow,
boys, follow!" she darted through the cane-brake like a mad thing, only
stopping now and then to see how we kept up with her. We did our best;
but it was very laborious work, forcing our way at our utmost speed
through the thick canes, which were much higher than our heads, and in
some places; the ground was so soft, that we sunk in up to our bellies.
What a tremendous crash and splash we made, and how we did grunt and
snort! However, at last we reached the open country, two or three miles
from the bank of the river. Here we found more than half of the herd,
(we were seventy-five in number at that time,) and others were every
minute making their appearance from the canes. And now my mother, when
she had a little recovered her breath, turning to my brother who had
first given the alarm, explained to us the cause of this sudden
retreat. "My son," said she, "not _monkeys_ sitting upon _deer_ have
you seen, but _men_ upon _horses_, and the _long poles_ are _cruel
spears_ intended for your destruction."

Our careful leader now called over the names of his company, and
finding that two were missing, he ordered us to retreat to a thick wood
at a short distance, while himself and his brother, a steady sedate old
fellow, entered the cane-brake again, in hopes of falling in with the
lost ones. Being now collected together, we did not fear the enemy, who
is too cowardly to attack any but stragglers from the main body; but we
were very anxious about the fate of our missing friends, especially as
they were both rather young and giddy.

In about an hour we perceived the leader and his brother issuing from
the cane-brake, supporting between them one of the stragglers, who
appeared quite unable to walk by himself, and as they came near, we
could see that he was bleeding from several wounds in his body, and
that he had lost the use of one of his hind-legs.

But what a dreadful account he gave us! He said that he and his
brother, whose name was Brisk, were feeding in an open space close to
the river, when they heard my mother's alarm-call, which Brisk said was
nothing more than her usual voice when she was scolding her children.
So he refused to retreat, and persuaded his brother to remain with him,
when suddenly they found themselves surrounded by ten or twelve hunters
mounted on horse-back, and armed with long spears. They made the best
resistance they could, and killed one of the hunters; but at length our
wounded friend, finding himself weak from his wounds, rolled down the
steep bank into the river, where he was concealed by the overhanging
trees, and as the cold water refreshed and strengthened him, he swam
gently down the stream, keeping close under the bank till he came to a
good landing-place. Here, he with difficulty managed to scramble on
shore, and was proceeding slowly and in great pain through the canes,
when he was found by the leader and his brother, without whose
assistance he said he should never have reached the herd, for he was
bleeding fast, and a deep spear-wound in the upper joint of his
hind-leg was becoming more and more painful at every step.

After his wounds had been examined, and the bleeding had been stopped
by the application of the proper herbs, our poor friend was questioned
as to the fate of his brother, when he immediately swooned from excess
of agitation. Recovering a little, in a low voice and in broken words
he endeavoured to communicate the sad tidings.

"Brother," said he, "brother Brisk--brother Brisk barbarously"--then
suddenly, to our amazement, jumping up on his three legs, he bellowed
forth with tremendous energy, "Brother Brisk barbarously butchered!"
Whereupon the whole herd, old and young, with quivering trunks high
raised in air, continued for some minutes to thunder forth in their
loudest tones, "Brother Brisk barbarously butchered! Brother Brisk
barbarously butchered!"

Did that wild cry of despair reach the ears of the hunters? If so, I
envy them not their feelings.

We continued in a close body all night with watchful sentinels on the
look-out. The next morning a council was held, from which my youth
excluded me; but we were soon informed, that our elders had determined
that we should retreat fifty or a hundred miles up the river, not (as
they were very particular in declaring) that they had any fear of the
enemy themselves, but on account of the number of young ones in the
herd, who, by wandering to a distance from the rest, would run great
risk of sharing the fate of poor Brisk. So, after waiting three or four
days for our wounded companion to recover a little, we set off on our
journey, keeping near the banks of the river, for the sake of the canes
and the opportunity of bathing. On the second day, coming to a narrow
part of the river, we determined to cross it as a greater security. It
was so shallow, that most of us could walk on the bottom with our
trunks raised above the surface of the water to breathe through, but
the very young ones either swam or were helped over by their mothers.

When we were all collected together, we heard a loud shout from the
opposite bank of the river, and lo! there were our enemies again, eight
in number, mounted on horses, and with their long steel lances
glittering in the sun. They had no doubt been following us closely all
day, looking out for stragglers. Some of our company who had complained
bitterly of our leader's strict discipline in obliging us to march in a
close body, now began to look rather silly. In a few minutes, another
horseman who appeared more heavily laden than his companions rode up to
them, and, oh! sight of horror! from his saddle were hanging a pair of
tusks, which no doubt a few days before had adorned the head of the
unfortunate Brisk!

After looking at us for some time, one of the hunters, more courageous
or more foolish than his companions, rode into the river as far as his
horse could go without swimming, till he was nearly half-way across,
and then, for the first time in my life, I had a fall view of the human
form and countenance.

Never before had I seen such a ridiculous object as this hunter, who
was pronounced to be an Englishman by some knowing ones in our company.
He was larger, certainly, than our amusing friends the monkeys, but his
pale face was not half so agreeable and intelligent, and as he sat on
his horse with his long thin legs dangling in the water, he looked so
disappointed and miserable, that, forgetting for a moment his villanous
cruelty, I almost pitied him. And so much for "the majesty of the human
countenance" which I have heard spoken of, but could never yet perceive.
It has been said that a bold man can subdue the rage even of the
ferocious tiger, merely by fixing his eye upon him. Very likely, for the
tiger is as cowardly as he is cruel; but did anybody ever hear of an
_elephant_, old or young, being frightened at a couple of little
twinkling eyes? Oh! most absurd!

After a little while the monkey--I mean the man in the river--joined
his companions on the bank, and when they had consulted together, they
seemed to give it up as a bad job. So they rode back down the river,
and we proceeded quietly on our journey.

It was more than fifty years after this adventure before I again
encountered any of these savage disturbers of the peace of the
wilderness, though we often heard of them from herds who had lost some
of their number by the treacherous devices of the enemy. During this
long period of tranquillity, so little occurred worth noticing, that I
shall leave the relation of this part of my life till another
opportunity, and hasten to give you an account of my next interview
with man, on which occasion it was that I began those observations on
his manner of making pit-falls, and other contrivances for our
destruction, which have been of such service in enabling us to avoid
these dangers. At this time, instead of losing one of our companions,
we had the pleasure of rescuing a member of another community from a
lingering and dreadful death.

We were quite on the other side of the island, several hundred miles
from the scene of the last tragedy. For some days we had been aware of
the neighbourhood of man from the smell of his watch-fires, and
accordingly we had doubled the number of our sentinels, and had taken
care not to wander far from each other. But we neither saw nor heard
anything of the enemy until about noon of a burning hot day, when, as
we were sheltering ourselves from the sun in a thick wood, we were
suddenly startled by loud shouts and yells, so discordant and hideous,
that we were sure they could be produced by no other animal but man. To
these cries we paid little attention, but presently was heard in the
same direction another sound--a sound which caused our very hearts to
burn within us, as we recognised the peculiar cry which a female of our
own species utters when in terrible distress and danger. A hasty
council was immediately called, when it was determined to rescue the
sufferer at all hazards, and twenty strong fellows, myself having the
command of the party, set off at full speed through the wood in the
direction of the cries,--every one of us bellowing as loud as we were
able.

A very short time sufficed to bring us within sight of the enemy. In an
open part of the forest was a troop of twenty or thirty hunters, but
very different in their appearance from those I have before described;
for these were nearly naked savages, on foot, and armed only with those
ridiculous things, bows and arrows--weapons which our good stout skins
enable us to laugh at. These wretches, as soon as they caught sight of
our formidable band, took to their heels in great confusion, flying in
every direction, like a herd of antelopes before the cruel tiger; we
did not deign to follow them, but hastened at once to the spot they had
left. Here we found a deep pit-fall, and at the bottom was an
exceedingly beautiful and very black female elephant unhurt by the
fall, for the pit being large, she had fortunately escaped the
murderous sharp-pointed stake, and her cry of distress was soon
exchanged for one of joyful recognition, as she saw so many of her
friends looking down upon her, and assuring her that they would leave
no means untried to rescue her from her prison. But this was a much
more difficult matter than we had supposed; for the pit was so deep,
that, when the captive stood up on her hind-legs, her eyes were but
just level with the ground, and though we made many efforts to lift her
out with our trunks, our attempts were always ended by our poor
friend's tumbling back again with great violence into the pit, and
nearly pulling three or four of us down with her. I now sent off a
messenger for our leader, who soon arrived, bringing the whole herd
with him; but numbers could not help us out of the difficulty.

At length, when we were beginning almost to despair, I chanced to
remember a plan, which I had heard was sometimes adopted by the
hunters, when they wished to take an elephant alive out of a pitfall.
Here, my children, was an instance of the advantage of _remembering
what we have heard_; and of remembering it at the right time too, for
our knowledge and experience are doubly useful to us when they enable
us to decide not only _wisely_, but _quickly_, in affairs of
difficulty.

The method, which, at my suggestion, we now adopted, was this;--with
our tusks we dug up the earth around the pit, and then shovelled it in
with our feet, while our friend below trampled it down hard as fast as
it came in. This was very laborious, tedious work for both parties, but
we were amply rewarded for our toil; for at length the pit was so far
filled up, that, with the assistance of our trunks, the poor captive
managed to scramble out of her dungeon. She was dreadfully exhausted
with fatigue and hunger, for she told us that she had been in captivity
for three days, and she had no doubt that the hunters intended to
starve her to death, for they had made no attempts either to release
her, or to put an end to her sufferings. I need not tell you that our
unfortunate friend received the hearty congratulations of our
community, and that she was supplied with abundance of the most
nourishing food we could collect, having first been conducted by two of
our females to the river to wash and refresh herself after her
sufferings.

So, when she was a little recovered, she informed us that she had
strayed away from her herd nearly a moon before, and that she was in
search of her companions when she met with her grievous disaster. Then
she begged permission to join our community, and the question being put
to the vote, was decided unanimously in her favour.

Who was this adopted stranger? My children, she was _your mother_! the
faithful friend, who for seventy years has rewarded me, by her
affectionate companionship, for my exertions in rescuing her from the
cruel grasp of her enemies.

                 *       *       *       *       *

At this part of his story, said Jolly, the old elephant became so prosy
and tiresome, talking of his family affairs, and praising his great fat
black wife, that I have almost forgotten the rest of his adventures.
But I remember that he was chosen leader of the herd soon after his
marriage, partly on account of his cleverness in getting the old lady
out of the pit, but chiefly because, as he has already told us, his
companions believed that he had formerly been a tame elephant. He also
reminded his sons, that, though so old and infirm, he had lately broken
his tusk by fighting with and killing a very fierce rhinoceros.

So when the old fellow had finished his history, he and his sons moved
off slowly towards the thickest part of the forest, and as soon as they
were out of sight I slid down from the tree and ran home to our
encampment.

We set off next day in pursuit of another herd, which we soon fell in
with, and had good luck with our traps, so that we quickly loaded
ourselves with ivory. I persuaded my companions not to put any bait on
the pit-falls, for sure enough, as the elephant observed, it _does_
look very unnatural to see fruit and green branches growing on a beaten
path. But whether our success was occasioned by this alteration in our
plans, or to the elephants being less cunning than the others, I cannot
pretend to tell you; but I say, boys, how angry the old leader would
have been, if he had thought, that, by letting out this secret, he had
lent a helping hand to "the contemptible little animals," as he had the
impertinence to call us!

But I have talked myself hoarse, and it is high time to turn in. So
good night, youngsters, all!

                 *       *       *       *       *

Now _all_ my tales are finished, and I am going to add what an Irishman
might call a _Preface_, at the _end_ of the book. I have a reason for
this. If my preface had been placed at the beginning, perhaps you would
never have read it at all, but would have skipped over it, in hopes of
finding something more entertaining. For I was a _stranger_ to you when
you first took this little book into your hand, but now you have
finished it, I hope you will consider the author as a _friend_, who
will be very much grieved if you refuse to listen to his parting words.
And a very few words they shall be.

Do you think this book has been written for your _amusement_ only? That
was my principal object, certainly; but I also intended slyly to convey
a little _instruction_ also. Therefore, in the descriptions of the
forms and habits of animals, some of which, though not uncommon in this
country, were perhaps almost unknown to you before, the greatest care
has been taken to insert no  information which had not been proved to
be correct, either from consulting the best authors on the subject,[12]
or from my own observation. This may be called a _true story_, then,
except in one respect, that the characters have been endowed with the
gifts of speech and reason. How could I write a tale about animals that
could neither speak to each other, nor understand what was spoken to
them? And how can we be sure that "dumb creatures," as they are often
called, are not improperly named so, and that they do not possess a
sort of language of their own? That they have the power of expressing
some of their sentiments to each other is certain.

      [12] Especially "Bell's History of British Quadrupeds," a work
      abounding in valuable and most interesting matter, and adorned
      with beautiful wood-cuts, many of which are complete portraits of
      the animals they represent.

In studying the natural history of animals, we might at first suppose,
that some were less fitted for enjoyment than others, and we might say
that the mole, for instance, has had a hard lot assigned him, because
he is nearly deprived of sight, and is condemned to labour all his days
in searching for his food under the earth. But a more perfect knowledge
of the form and structure of this and other animals will convince us,
that they are _all_ so beautifully fitted for the situations for which
they were designed, that each may be said to pass its life in the
enjoyment of almost perfect happiness and abundance. For the Great
Spirit who called them into existence loves _all_ his creatures, even
the meanest and smallest.

Do you believe this? You cannot doubt it, if you have made even a small
progress in the study of Natural history. The Creator's love for every
breathing thing, and provident care for its happiness, must be evident
to all those who pay attention to the works of his hands. What a great
crime, then, shall we be guilty of, if we inflict unnecessary suffering
on any of those creatures he has placed in our power! Creatures beloved
and cared for by God, but so frequently despised and ill-used by us!
Let us think of this, when we are treating any animal unkindly, and
beware lest we "be found even to _fight against God_," by thwarting his
benevolent designs for the happiness of every creature he has sent
forth upon the earth.


THE END.

J. Rickerby, Printer, Sherbourn Lane.




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