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Title: Live Toys; Or, Anecdotes of Our Four-Legged and Other Pets

Author: Emma Davenport

Illustrator: Harrison Weir

Release date: June 14, 2013 [eBook #42946]

Language: English

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  [Illustration: BLUEBEARD, THE SHETLAND PONY.
  _Page 85._]


LIVE TOYS;

Or

Anecdotes of Our Four-Legged and Other Pets.

by

EMMA DAVENPORT,

Authoress Of

"Jamie's Questions," "Weak And Wilful," etc.

With Illustrations by Harrison Weir.







London:
Griffith and Farran,
(Successors to Newbery and Harris,)
Corner of St. Paul's Churchyard.
M DCCC LXII.

London:
Printed by Wertheimer and Co.,
Circus Place, Finsbury.





TO

LADY NEPEAN,

THIS

LITTLE VOLUME IS DEDICATED,

AS

CONTAINING TRUE ANECDOTES OF THE VARIOUS ANIMALS THAT WERE IN THE
POSSESSION OF A LITTLE BOY AND GIRL, IN WHOM SHE HAS ALWAYS SHEWN
A KIND INTEREST.




Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have
been retained as printed. The cover of this ebook was created by
the transcriber and is hereby placed in the public domain.




CONTENTS.


                                                  PAGE

MOPPY, THE WHITE RABBIT                              1

THE TWO BIRDS, GOLDIE AND BROWNIE                    4

POLL PARROT                                         10

NEDDY AND THE RIFLE DONKEY                          19

BUNNY, THE WILD RABBIT                              31

THE JACKDAW                                         38

PRICKER, THE HEDGEHOG                               50

DRAKE, THE RETRIEVER                                55

TAWNEY, THE TERRIER                                 60

PUFFER, THE PIGEON                                  70

DR. BATTIUS, THE BAT                                75

THE CHOUGH                                          80

THE KITTENS, BLACKY AND SNOWDROP                    83

BLUEBEARD, THE SHETLAND PONY                        85

JOE, THE GERMAN DOG                                 96




LIVE TOYS;

OR

ANECDOTES OF OUR FOUR-LEGGED AND OTHER PETS.




MOPPY, THE WHITE RABBIT.


The first Pet that we ever remember possessing was a large white
rabbit. We were then very little children; and, being at the sea-side,
we spent the greater part of the day on the shore, or rather on the
broad esplanade, that stretched for full half-a-mile round the pretty
bay. When we were quite tired of running there, or of picking up stones
and weeds on the shingle below the esplanade wall, we were enabled to
prolong our stay out of doors by means of the pretty little
goat-carriages that were kept in readiness on the esplanade. Some of
them were made with two seats; some were drawn by one goat, and some
with two. There were reins and regular harness to these little goats,
and we were indeed pleased, when our nurse allowed us to drive in one
of the double-seated carriages. We took turns to sit in front and
drive, and we tried hard to persuade our Mamma to let us have a goat,
and a goat-carriage for ourselves. What a nice Pet that would have
been! But Mamma said she could not take it about, as we travelled much,
and also that a goat would butt at us and knock us down. Therefore we
were obliged to be content with patting and coaxing the goats on the
walk.

During one of our drives in the goat-carriage, we met with a boy
carrying a beautiful white creature with pink eyes; "Look! look!
nurse," we cried, "what is that?" "It is a rabbit," she said, "would
you like to stroke it?" and she took it out of the boy's hands, and
held it close to us; we kissed it and stroked it, and buried our faces
in its long white hair, felt its curious long ears, and wondered at the
strange colour of its eyes. The boy said that a sailor gave it to him;
but that his mother wished him to sell it, as it was troublesome in her
small cottage, and they had no yard to keep it in, and he asked nurse
if she would buy it from him. We earnestly begged that we might have
it; "Do buy it, Mary," we cried; "please buy it." And, after some
talking, Mary gave sixpence to the boy for the rabbit, and, my sister
giving up her front seat and her reins to me, went home with the pretty
creature in her lap.

We called the rabbit Moppy; it was a source of great amusement to us.
Mary contrived a bed for it in a large packing-box in an empty garret
at the top of the house, and when we wished to play with it, it was
brought down to the nursery. We always fed it from our hands. It became
extremely tame, and would follow us about the room, and allow us to
lift it and carry it in all sorts of strange ways; for we could not
manage lifting it by the ears in the proper way. When it began to be
tired of us, it used to get under the sofa, and when we dragged it out
again it appeared angry and would kick with its hind legs, and make
quite a loud knocking on the floor, with what we called its hind
elbows. When this commenced, nurse usually carried it off to its box,
fearing that it might bite, or else she covered it up in her lap, when
it would remain asleep for some time.

Now and then we took it with us when we drove in the little carriage,
and it lay so snugly on our knees and kept us so warm. Before we had
become at all weary of our plaything, or indifferent to its welfare, we
removed to Ireland; and going first to visit grand-mamma, it was
thought impossible to take Moppy, so after much consultation, nurse
spoke to one of the little boys who kept the goats, and seemed to be a
gentle good-natured lad, and with many instructions and requests that
he would be most kind and careful to the poor little animal, we kissed
and stroked our pet, and, burying our faces in its long white hair for
the last time, we made him a present of beautiful soft Moppy.




THE TWO BIRDS, GOLDIE AND BROWNIE.


"Would you like to buy a bird, Sir?" said a poor woman to me one day
when we were just setting out for our walk. She held in her hand a
small cage with a beautiful goldfinch.

"I have one shilling and sixpence," I said, "will you give it to me for
that?"

"I hoped to be able to sell it for half-a-crown," the woman said, "for
I am very poor; I am leaving this place and want money for my journey,
or I should not part with my bird."

"But I have a shilling," said my sister, "and that added to your money
will make half-a-crown, and so we can buy it between us and it will
belong to us both."

We gave our money to the poor woman, and she put the cage into my hand.
The little bird was quite a beauty, his colours so bright, his plumage
so glossy and thick, and his chirp so merry. After displaying him to
Mamma, and to every body we met, we carried him to the nursery, and
placed him on the broad window-seat; Mamma said she was afraid we
should soon get tired of him, and neglect to feed him and to clean his
cage. This, we thought, was quite unlikely. However, we promised very
faithfully; and we commenced with feeding and petting him so much that
he soon became extremely tame, would take seeds and crumbs from our
fingers, chirp to us when we came near his cage, and sing without the
least sign of fear.

One day we had carried him into the drawing-room; and, on opening the
door of the cage to put in some sugar, he darted out. "Oh dear! oh
dear! Goldie is out," we exclaimed; "what shall we do? We shall lose
him." But Mamma quickly got up, and shut both the windows and begged us
to be quiet, and not to frighten him by rushing after him and
attempting to seize him. "If you leave him alone," said Mamma, "he will
perhaps allow you quietly to take him in your hand when he has flown
about as much as he wishes; but he will lose all his tameness if you
terrify him." So we sat down to watch the little fellow, he darted
about the room for some time, and presently alighted on the table,
where the breakfast things remained. First he pecked at the bread, then
tried the sugar, peeped into the cups, and seemed highly amused at the
different articles which he was now examining for the first time. Then
he flew on the top of the picture frames that hung on the wall, then on
the curtain rods, and at last perched on Mamma's head, peeped at her
hair, and looked as proud and happy as possible. And after he had
looked at every thing in the room and well stretched his wings, he
quietly returned to his cage, chirping at us, as if to say, "I have
seen enough for one day, I'll come out again to-morrow." So afterwards
we used to give him a fly every morning, taking care to shut all the
windows before his door was opened. We paid so much attention to our
bird; that he did not seem to find his life at all dull, but he
obtained a companion in an unexpected manner.

Our nursery window was standing open, Goldie was in his cage on the
table, and we were playing on the floor; suddenly my sister exclaimed,
pointing to the window, "Goldie is out! Goldie is out!" and there
indeed, perched on the window-sill, was a little bird, which for a
moment we believed to be our own little pet. We gently approached the
window. "Oh that is a brown bird," said I, "and look! Goldie is safe in
his cage." Nurse now advised us to draw back from the window, for that
if not frightened, the little stranger might possibly be attracted by
the bird in the cage, and might come inside the window; so we retreated
to the opposite side of the room, and watched the little fellow. In he
hopped very cautiously, now and then making a little chirrup, and
twisting his head in all directions, as if to discover with his sharp
black eyes, whether there was anything or anybody likely to hurt him;
now he came on a chair-back, and then becoming bolder, ventured on the
table. When Goldie saw him, he left his seed box at which he had been
very busy, and hopping about his cage in a most excited mannere began
to chirrup as loudly as he could, and shaking his tails up and down, he
seemed to express his great joy at the sight of the little brown
visitor. Nurse quietly passed round the room and shut the window, "Now
we have him safe," we cried, dancing about. "Pray be still, my dears,"
said nurse, "until we get him into the cage." So we again became
immoveable, and there was the brown stranger peeping at Goldie through
the bars, perhaps wishing to partake of the seed and sugar, and fresh
groundsel that Goldie had been enjoying. He was a delicately shaped
thin little bird, all his feathers of a pretty dark brown, he did not
appear to be much frightened when nurse approached, nor did he leave
the table when she opened the door of the cage; but on the contrary, he
peeped in, and receiving a very civil chirp of invitation from Goldie,
he actually hopped in to our extreme delight.

We ran to display our treasure to Mamma. She was quite amused at our
having caught him in so strange a manner, and said that she thought he
was a linnet, or some such kind of bird. He was evidently a tame bird
that had been much petted. He soon accommodated himself to all Goldie's
habits, came regularly to breakfast, and took his fly afterwards, all
about the room, resting occasionally on our heads or shoulders. Brownie
would now hop on our fingers, when we wished to take him up from the
floor; and this we had never been able to teach to Goldie.

The two birds were very good friends, excepting when an unusually nice
bit of groundsel or plantain excited a quarrel between them; then they
scolded, fluttered, and pecked at each other in a very savage manner.
We had a sliding partition made to the cage, and when they began to
dispute, we punished them by sliding in this partition and separating
them for a short time. They used to look quite unhappy, moping in their
solitude, until we made them happy again, by withdrawing the partition.

These little birds went many journeys with us, even crossed to England,
and back again to Ireland, and lived with us for a long time; and I
suppose we became rather careless about open windows and doors, knowing
that the birds were so very tame, and had no wish to fly away.

We were the following summer in another place. There our rooms were
confined and small; so we used to allow the birds to fly about on the
staircase every morning, in order to give them a larger range for using
their wings.

One bright summer morning, Goldie flew out on the landing; and as he
had invariably come back again to his cage, we were not noticing him
much, and never perceived that the servant had gone down stairs,
leaving open the door at the bottom of the flight, just outside of
which door, was an open window. Presently we went to see for him, and
it was some moments before we spied him sitting on the ledge of this
open window. If we had made no exclamation, and placed the cage on the
stairs, most probably he would have returned; but perhaps we startled
him by running down the stairs towards him. Out he went so rapidly and
yet so gently, in the bright fresh air, as if he would say, "Liberty
and sunshine, and freedom of flight in the summer sky, is too
delightful to refuse, even for you, my dear little master and
mistress." He perched on a high tree and looked at us for a while. In
vain we strewed crumbs about the window, and called and whistled. In
vain we set his cage on the ledge with his deserted companion in it,
hoping that hearing Brownie's chirp would entice him to return. He
never came back again, and Brownie occupied the cage for many months;
our care of him being greater than ever, since we lost our other
favourite.

But Brownie's end was much more tragic. We were going away on a visit
for some weeks; and it was decided that Brownie was not to go, but that
he should live in the kitchen until we returned. There was a huge cat
living in the barracks. We always had been in dread of her, and had
tried to make her afraid of entering our door; but whilst we were away,
she one day found all the doors open, and peeping into the kitchen, and
seeing no protecting servant there, she seized our dear little pet, and
soon destroyed him. When we returned home, there was nothing but the
empty cage.




POLL PARROT.


We were staying for some months at a seaport town in France, many
vessels used to come in from different parts of the world; and I
suppose the sailors brought with them all sorts of animals and birds,
for the houses looking on the quay where the vessels were moored were
almost entirely shops of birds, monkeys, etc., etc. It was most amusing
to walk along the quay, and look at all the live creatures that were
there exposed for sale. Such a chattering of monkeys of all shapes and
sizes, such a twittering and singing from every imaginable species of
small birds, such a screaming and chattering from the parrots and
macaws, and such fun in peeping into the cages of white mice and
ferrets. We often wished very much to buy a monkey; but Mamma did not
fancy it, and said they were uncertain ill-tempered beasts, and that we
should be constantly bitten if we had one. First, we longed for this
bird, then for that squirrel, then for a cage of white mice, and so on;
indeed I believe we quite tormented Mamma with requests to walk along
the quay of animals, as we called it. At last we set our affections
upon a grey parrot, the smoothest and handsomest among the large number
exposed for sale. We never heard her say anything, it is true; but we
thought that an advantage, as she would not have learnt to swear and
talk like the sailors, and we should teach her to say just what we
pleased.

The price of the parrot was rather high, because of her size and
beauty, and we longed for her many weeks before we were her masters;
but at last she was placed in our possession as a new year's gift, and,
in addition, a nice cage with a swing, and tin dishes for her food, all
the wood work being carefully bound with tin, to secure it from her
formidable beak.

Cage and parrot were carried with us on our return to England, and she
soon became a great pet. She was not at first very tame; but by much
petting, and by leaving the door of her cage constantly open, so that
she did not feel herself a prisoner, she gradually became more
friendly. The first sign of love to any of us was after my sister's
short absence of a few days at a friend's house. When she returned, we
were talking together in the hall, and Poll's cage being in an
adjoining room, she heard her voice, and recognising it, she came down
from her cage, and gave notice of her arrival at my sister's feet by
her usual croak; she flapped her wings, and gave every sign of pleasure
at seeing her again. She did not, however, extend her amiability to any
one but myself, sister, and Mamma; she was still savage to strangers,
and would bite fiercely if touched, but if we offered our wrists, she
would step soberly on, allow us to scratch her head, stroke her back,
push back her feathers to look at her curious little ears, and in
return she would lay her beak against our cheeks, and make a clucking
noise as if she meant to kiss us. She used to waddle all about the room
with her turned-in toes, and climbed up tables and chairs just as she
pleased. She would get upon Mamma's knee by scrambling up her dress,
holding it tight in her beak. When we were writing or drawing, she
enjoyed sitting on the table, though she meddled sadly with our things,
biting our pencils in pieces, tearing paper, and so on, and once in
particular, she terrified us for her own safety by opening every blade
of a sharp penknife, and flourishing it about in her claws as if in
triumph. We had some difficulty in getting it from her grasp without
cutting ourselves or hurting her. She was a famous talker, called us
all by name, whistled and barked when the dog came into the room;
called "Puss, puss!" and mewed when the cat showed itself, sang several
bits of songs, and asked for fruit and food of different sorts. We
never could teach her to sing through a whole tune. I never heard a
parrot get beyond a few bars; and I wonder what is the reason that they
will learn the commencement of half-a-dozen different songs, but still
cannot remember any whole. I do think a parrot's voice and utterance is
one of the most extraordinary of things, for it always repeats a word
in the peculiar voice of the person who taught it; and, instead of
closing its beak or touching the roof of its mouth with its tongue, in
order to articulate, it invariably opens its mouth wide when it speaks,
and its tongue is never used at all; yet it will pronounce m's, b's,
p's, and t's as plainly as any human being. We could always tell who
had taught our Poll any word or song, from the similarity of voice that
she adopted. Her sleeping-place was for some time on the top of a
chair-back in my sister's bedroom. When we were leaving the
sitting-room to go upstairs at night, Poll used to waddle down from the
cage and come to my sister, who held her wrist down for her to mount,
and having been conveyed upstairs and placed on the floor, she mounted
of her own accord to her sleeping perch, gave all her feathers a good
shake, and settled her head for the night.

Very early in the morning, she used to commence her toilet. Such
scratchings and smoothings of her feathers, such picking and cleaning
of her feet and legs; and having arranged her dress for the day, she
would come down, take a turn or two about the room, and then look at my
sister to see if she were awake. If not stirring, Poll used to clamber
up on the bed by means of the curtain or counterpane, get quietly on
the pillow, and examine her eyes closely. If no wink was perceptible,
Poll would gently and cautiously lift up an eyelid, pinching it softly
in her beak, then go to the other eye and do the same; then she would
wait a little bit, saying, "Hey? hey?" as if to ask whether her
mistress was not yet properly roused. Then she would again work away at
the eyelids, till my sister could no longer refrain from laughing. She
used to feign being asleep every morning, in order to amuse herself
with Poll's proceedings.

I wished to try having my eyelids opened by Poll in the same manner,
and one night took the bird into my own room; but she did not approve
of this change of quarters, and instead of going quietly to sleep, made
such a croaking and grinding of teeth on her chair-back, that I was
glad to carry her back to my sister's room. Indeed, although she was
very friendly with me, she did not manifest the same attachment as
towards my sister and mother, apparently preferring ladies' society.

While Poll was with us, we went another journey into France, and took
the parrot with us in a basket. It was a stormy night when we crossed
from Southampton, and Poll in her basket was placed at the foot of my
sister's berth, and no further attention was paid her. The cabin was
very full of people, and numbers had to lie on the floor, there not
being sufficient berths or sofas. In the middle of the night, the
inmates of the ladies' cabin were all startled by a scream from an old
lady who was stretched on the floor.

"Stewardess! Here! Here! Some dreadful thing is biting me. I have
received a shocking bite on the leg. Do search for the creature,
whatever it is."

So the stewardess came and looked, and could find nothing.

My sister, who had looked out of her shelf at the old lady's cry,
immediately divined what it was, seeing that Poll's basket had rolled
off the berth to the floor, and she having gnawed a hole in the basket,
had put out her beak and bitten the first thing with which it came in
contact.

When the stewardess came to look for the monster, the basket had
rolled, with the motion of the ship, to the other side of the cabin,
and not finding a sea voyage pleasant, she put forth her beak again.

"Oh! bless me! What can that be?" cried another passenger. "Something
bit me. Do find it, stewardess."

Then came another lurch, and away rolled Poll in her basket; and no one
suspected a rather shabby old basket of containing anything but perhaps
a pair of slippers, or a brush and comb, or some such articles. So poor
Poll rolled about in her prison, inflicting bites on several legs and
arms, my sister meanwhile in agonies of laughter on her shelf, and not
daring to say who was the real offender, lest Poll should be turned out
of the cabin.

At last the stewardess said that she supposed it must be rats, and she
ran away at the entreaties of the poor victims on the floor to fetch
the steward to search for the rats. Whilst she was gone, my sister
slipped down from her berth, and took possession of Poll's basket. She
had scarcely retreated with it in safety, when the stewardess returned
with the steward; and rather an angry altercation ensued, the man
insisting that there was not a rat in the ship, and the injured
passengers insisting that sharp bites could not be made by nothing at
all. However, after a long dispute, he begged them all to move from the
floor, and made a regular search.

My sister was all the time in the greatest alarm, lest Poll should
think proper to croak or sing "Nix my dolly," or otherwise to make
known her presence. As luck would have it, however, Poll was either too
sea-sick or too angry to say anything, and the steward announced that
no live thing was in the cabin, and that the ladies had been dreaming.

"But bites in a dream, don't bleed," retorted an angry old lady,
holding up to view a pocket handkerchief which indeed wore a murderous
appearance.

This being unanswerable, the steward could only shrug his shoulders and
retreat from the Babel of voices in the ladies' cabin; and soon after,
my sister had the pleasure of landing, with Poll undiscovered and safe
in her old basket, and we are ignorant whether the old lady ever found
out what it was that had bitten her.

During our journey, Poll often caused great amusement, by suddenly
shouting or singing as we were jogging along in a diligence or slowly
steaming on a river, thereby astonishing and alarming our fellow
passengers; nor did she forget, when occasion offered, to make good use
of her strong beak.

At one place we were entering a town late at night, and the place being
a frontier town, our luggage was all strictly examined by the
custom-house officers before we were permitted to enter the gates. All
having been passed and paid for, we remounted the diligence; my sister
was the last. She had her foot on the step, when one of the men rudely
pulled her back, asking why she had not shown her basket. She said
there was nothing in it but a bird, but the man declared he must look;
and seeing that my sister was unwilling to open it, he imagined there
was something valuable and contraband in it, so roughly dragging it out
of her hands, he tore open the lid, and thrust in his hand. Poll gave a
loud croak, and the man rather quickly withdrew his hand, with a
thousand vociferations at the bird and the basket and my sister. I must
confess I was delighted to see that Poll had made her beak nearly meet
in the surly fellow's finger.

When my sister had regained her basket, and we had left the gate, we
lavished much praise on Poll for her discriminating conduct on this
occasion. She would not have bitten my hand had I put it into the
basket; how did she know that the hand was a stranger's?

When we arrived at our destination in the south of France, Poll enjoyed
the novelty as much as any one. Now she revelled in the abundance of
oranges and other fruits, eating just the best part, and flinging away
the rest with lavish epicurism. And how she basked in the hot sun, and
climbed about the cypress and olive trees in the garden, biting the
bark and leaves, and almost I think believing that she was again in her
wild birth-place, wherever that may have been! She accompanied us in
safety on our homeward journey, went to Ireland with us; and whenever
we travelled, Poll went too.

At one time she took an erroneous notion into her head, that she could
fly; now this was an impossibility, for her wings were very short and
small, and her body very large and heavy. Whether this had chanced from
her unnatural life in a house, or from early cutting of her wings, I do
not know, but she could not support herself in the air, even from the
table to the ground. However, she thought she could, and on one
occasion she tried to fly, when perched on the top bannister of a large
well staircase of four flights. Down she came like a lump of lead on
the floor below, and when we ran to pick her up, poor Poll was gasping,
lying on her back, with her eyes rolling about in a fearful manner. We
thought she would die, but we put some water in her mouth, blew in her
face and did what we could to revive her, and gradually she recovered.

But this lesson was lost upon her. A few days after, she tried to fly
out of a window on the first floor, and came down in the same heavy
way, on the flagged pavement before the door. This time her head was
wounded, and bled, and she seemed stupid for some days after; but she
recovered and lived long after that. Probably these falls had injured
her brain, for at last she began to tumble off her perch, as if giddy,
and then her head swelled very much, and she died in a sort of fit.

I have seen other parrots who were better talkers than ours; but I
never saw one so tame, and so fond of her own master and mistress, she
used to come to meet us like a dog, when we came into the house, after
being absent for walks or rides, knew our times for rising and going to
bed, called us separately by our names, and really showed much
intelligence.

Birds, in general, are, I think rather stupid, and do not understand
anything, but what their own instinct tells them; but parrots seem to
know the meaning of the words they learn: and if others do not, I am
sure that our Poll did.




NEDDY, AND THE RIFLE DONKEY.


Our next pet was a very different creature. One of our aunts had sent
us some money as a present; and I and my sister had many consultations
as to what we should do with it. At last we hit upon an idea that
charmed us both, and we ran to our Mamma. "Oh Mamma, we cried, do you
think our money will buy a donkey? We saw the other day, a little boy
and girl both riding upon a donkey, it trotted along so nicely with
them, and the little boy at the other side of the square has a donkey,
and we should like it so very much." Then Mamma said that a donkey
would be of no use unless we could also buy a saddle and bridle; and
besides that, she must enquire where he could graze, or whether there
was any spare stall in which he could live. These things had not
occurred to us; but we went to Papa, and begged him to find out where
our donkey could live in case we had one.

Now there was a large sort of waste field adjoining the Barrack Square;
a few sheep and some old worn-out horses were kept in it, but I believe
it was not used for anything else. We sometimes ran and played there,
and there was a pond in it, into which we were very fond of flinging
large cobble stones. Papa found that he could easily obtain leave for
our donkey to graze there, and it was of such extent, that it could
find there quite sufficient food; so that difficulty was done away
with.

Then we made enquiry about the price of donkeys. We talked one day to
the nurse of the little boy and girl who rode together. She did not
know what their donkey cost, but told us that she knew a little boy who
bought a young donkey, when it was scarcely able to stand, and so
small, that he had it in his nursery, where it lay on the rug before
the fire, and was quite a playfellow to him.

We thought we should like a tiny donkey to play with in the house; but
Mamma persuaded us that it would be much pleasanter to have one that we
could ride. Papa heard of a donkey we could buy for one pound, it came
to be looked at, and we liked its appearance much; it was in very good
condition, its coat thick and smooth, and not rubbed in any place. Our
other pound supplied us with a sort of soft padded saddle and bridle;
the pommels took off, so that either of us could use the saddle, and
happy indeed was the morning, when Neddy was brought to the door for
us.

I had the first ride, and, owing to a peculiarity in Neddy's manners, I
soon had my first tumble. We proceeded across the square very nicely,
and were about to cross a large gutter, along which a good deal of
water was rushing. I had no idea that Neddy would not quietly step over
it; but he had an aversion to water, and coming close to the gutter, he
made a great spring and leapt over it; the sudden jerk tossed me off
his back, and Papa catching me by the collar of my dress, just
prevented me from going headlong into the water. And we found that
Neddy always jumped over a puddle, or any appearance of water;
sometimes a damp swampy place in the road, was enough to set him
springing. But when we knew that this was his custom, we were prepared
for it, and had no more falls; we rode in turns, and sometimes I got on
behind my sister, and many nice long rides we had all about the fields
and lanes. When we returned home, we took off the saddle and bridle at
the door, and gave Neddy a pat; away he scampered through the open
gateway into the field, flinging up his heels with pleasure. We could
see all over the field and the square from our windows, and soon found
it extremely amusing to watch the proceedings of our Neddy and another
donkey.

This donkey belonged to a little boy, who also lived in the square; he
did not often ride upon it, but it followed him about more in the
manner of a large dog. It had learned how to open the latches of the
doors, and could go up and down stairs quite well.

Our Mamma went one day to see the little boy's Mamma, and when she
opened the door of their house she was much surprised to find the
donkey's face close to her's, and she was obliged to give him a good
push to get past him. When we heard this, we used to watch for the
donkey going in and out, and soon we saw him go into the field and make
friends with Neddy. They held their heads near together and seemed to
be whispering; then they would trot about a little while, then whisper
again. We supposed that the strange donkey was telling Neddy what fun
he had in going into the different houses and getting bits to eat from
the inhabitants, and instructing him how to bray under such and such
windows when cooking was going on. For Neddy soon began to follow his
friend about, and to imitate everything that he did. We did not know
the name of the other donkey, so we called him the Rifle donkey,
because his little master's Papa belonged to a rifle regiment. Neddy
was an apt pupil, for soon after the conversations between the two
donkeys had begun, we were seated one evening at tea, when we heard an
extraordinary clattering upon the staircase, we listened and wondered,
as it became louder. The staircase came up to the end of a long
passage, which led to our doors, and when the clattering reached the
passage I exclaimed, "I do believe it is the donkey coming up stairs."

We rushed to the door, and looked out. Yes, indeed, the Rifle donkey
and Neddy were quietly pacing along the passage. We were thoroughly
charmed at Neddy's cleverness in mounting two long flights of stairs,
and when we had given them each a piece of bread, and patted and coaxed
them, they turned away to go down again, the Rifle donkey leading the
way. He managed very well indeed, but Neddy made rather awkward work
with his hind legs; however, he managed to reach the bottom without
throwing himself down. Next they went under the windows of the
adjoining house, and the Rifle donkey began to bray loudly, Neddy
copied him in his most sonorous tones, and presently a window was
opened and a variety of little bits of food were thrown out, which they
ran to pick up. They came every morning to this window, and the officer
who lived there always answered their call, by throwing something out
to them. When he shut his window, they quietly went away, and about the
middle of the day, when luncheons and dinners were going on, they would
go to other windows about the square, and bray for food. Neddy always
walked behind the other, and did not bray till he began. Sometimes
there were clothes laid out to dry by the washer-women on a piece of
grass, behind the houses. This supplied great amusement to the donkeys,
for as soon as the women went away they would run to the grass, take up
the clothes in their mouths, fling them up in the air, tread upon them,
tear them, and even used to eat some of the smallest things, such as
frills and pocket-handkerchiefs. But this was really too mischievous,
as the poor women suffered for their fun.

No one would believe them, when they said that such a missing
handkerchief had been eaten by donkeys, or that such a piece of lace or
a collar had been bitten and torn by the same tiresome creatures. I
well remember some of our shirts coming home half eaten, and our Mamma
then advised the washer-women to have a boy, with a good thick stick,
to watch the drying ground, and to desire him to belabour them well if
they attempted to touch any of the clothes. This advice was followed,
so that piece of fun was in future denied to the donkeys. But, I and my
sister highly disapproved of this system; we thought that we would much
rather have our shirts eaten, or indeed all our clothes torn than allow
Neddy to be beaten with a stick, to say nothing of the great amusement
it gave us, to see the two queer animals rushing about among the wet
things, entangling their feet in them, and sometimes trotting off into
the square with a night-cap or a stocking sticking on their noses.
However, we still took great interest in their proceedings even without
the poor washerwomen's clothes; for being deprived of that game, they
began to plague the soldiers at the guard room. It had a sort of
colonnade in front, supported by pillars, and the Rifle donkey found
that it was very diverting to rush head first at the men who were
standing under the colonnade. If they tried to strike him, he used to
dodge round a pillar, and then rush at them again from the other side.
Often he singled out one man for his attacks, and then Neddy assisted
his friend, by biting at the same man from behind, but he was not
nearly so active in evading punishment as the Rifle donkey, and
received many a buffet and kick during these encounters. Sometimes the
soldiers punished them by getting on their backs. This, however, was
not to be borne, and cling as tightly as they could, the donkeys never
failed to fling them off, when they would return to the charge with
renewed vigour.

These games of bo-peep, and so forth, apparently amused the men quite
as much as ourselves, and many a half-hour have we sat in our
stair-case window-seat, watching the antics of the donkeys and the
soldiers. Their play usually ended by the Rifle donkey receiving a
harder rap on the nose than he deemed pleasant, then he would fling up
his heels, and with a most unearthly yell, gallop off to the field,
closely followed by the sympathising Neddy, who imitated in his best
fashion both the yell and the fling of his heels.

  [Illustration: NEDDY, AND THE RIFLE DONKEY.
  _Page 25._]

We were going to leave the barracks, and move to another part of
Ireland; and just before we went, the two donkeys got into a terrible
scrape. Indeed, it was very well that we did go away; for they were
becoming so extremely mischievous and so cunning, that they would soon
have become too tiresome; and although we were charmed with every trick
they played, almost all the grown-up people thought them a great
torment; and the Rifle-donkey had become a great deal more active and
monkey-like, since Neddy had followed and copied him. I suppose he felt
proud of being able to lead the other wherever he chose.

It was extremely hot weather, and all doors and windows were generally
left standing open. Not that it would have made much difference to the
Rifle-donkey had they been shut; for there was not a door in the place
that he could not open. But very likely they were tempted to this work
of destruction by the sight of the open door. Whilst the officers were
dining, the two donkeys walked into the ante-room. The table there was
covered with newspapers, magazines, and books; and perhaps the donkeys
thought that these papers were some of their old friends the clothes,
from the drying-green; so they pulled them off the table; tore the
newspapers into little bits; munched the backs of some bound books;
scattered the magazines about the room; upset an ink-bottle that stood
on the table; dabbled their noses in the pond of ink, and having done
their best to destroy and spoil everything there, our Neddy, I suppose,
was so delighted at the mischief they had done, that he could not
refrain from setting up a loud and prolonged bray of pleasure and
exultation.

This brought in some of the officers, and there they found the
Rifle-donkey trampling a heap of torn papers and books, with the
remains of a blotted "Punch" in his mouth, and Neddy was looking on and
expressing his admiration.

So they were ignominiously turned out with kicks and blows; and some of
the officers were very angry, and said that both of the donkeys ought
to be shot immediately; and the others said that, at any rate, they
should be shut up, and not allowed to run at large about the barracks.
But, luckily for Neddy, we went away in a day or two, and we never
heard how they managed to keep the Rifle-donkey in order. Perhaps he
was not so mischievous when he had lost his companion, having then no
one to admire his proceedings. We only heard that when his regiment
left, some months later, the donkey marched out with them just in front
of the band.

As soon as we arrived at our new abode, our first thought was to find a
field for Neddy. The fort in which we were to live was quite small;
there was a street on one side, and the river close up to the wall on
the other; the square, or rather the small space within the wall, was
gravelled: no where could we see a blade of grass for our poor donkey,
and there appeared to be nothing but brown bog anywhere round. Poor
Neddy was put in a stall at the inn for the night; he must have been
much surprised at the hay, and the luxurious bed of straw; for a bare
field had hitherto been his only resting-place, and green grass the
very best thing he had had to eat.

But the stall could not be continued; and as soon as our Papa had
leisure, he looked about for a suitable place for Neddy.

There was another small fort about half-a-mile down the river: it
consisted of a moat, and a low wall with a few guns. There was one
little cottage inside for the gunner in charge; and the whole space
inside the wall, consisting of a flat terrace, with sloping banks, and
a good space in the middle, was covered with beautiful thick green
grass. This was just the place for Neddy; he would not be able to get
out, and there was nothing inside that he could hurt; for, of course,
the gunner would soon teach him that he was not to poke his nose inside
his neat little cottage; and there was plenty of space for him to run
about, and fresh moist grass to eat, which I should think he would like
better than dry hay in a hot stall. So Papa asked, and obtained leave,
to keep our donkey there; and we rode upon him from the inn, and put
him in possession of the little fort. He pricked up his ears, and
seemed not quite to like the clatter of his hoofs, as he crossed the
planks which formed a rude bridge over the moat. We thought nothing of
this at the time, but we had to think a great deal of it the next day,
when we came to take our ride--in happy ignorance that this would be
the very last ride we should ever take on Neddy's back. We kept our
saddle and bridle in our kitchen, and had to carry it with us to the
fort; so I put it on my head and the bridle round my waist, and my
sister drove me, and pretended I was a donkey. So we came very merrily
to the fort, and having saddled and bridled Master Neddy, I was
mounted, and we proceeded towards the plank bridge. But just at the
edge, Neddy stopped short, laid back his ears, tried to turn round,
and, in fact, refused to cross. In vain we patted and coaxed, tried to
tempt him across with a biscuit, then tied a pocket handkerchief over
his eyes, and attempted to cheat him into crossing without his seeing
where he stepped.

In no way could we induce him to put his foot upon the plank. The
gunner came to our aid; and we all worried ourselves to no purpose.
There was no other way out of the fort, and we were ready to cry with
vexation. At last, Nurse suggested that it would be best to return
home, and ask Papa what we could do; and being at our wit's end, we
took her advice and scampered back to the other fort. Papa, having
heard our story, sent four of the men with us, telling them they were
to bring Neddy out in the best way they could; but, that, come out, he
_must_. When we returned, there stood Neddy, just where we had left
him, staring stupidly at the bridge. At first, they wanted to whip him,
only leaving open to him the way to the bridge; but we declared he
should not be beaten; and the gunner agreed with us, that blows would
only make him still more obstinate.

"Well, then," they said, "as he is to come out at all hazards, the only
thing we can do is to carry him, one to each leg."

So they began to hoist up poor Neddy, who did not in the least approve
of this mode of conveyance. He tried to bite and kick, and twisted
himself about in all directions. How we did laugh to be sure! For when
two of them had got his fore legs over their shoulders, he made darts
at their hair and their faces with his mouth, so that they had to hold
his nose with one hand and his leg with the other. Then getting up his
hind-legs was worse still; for he jerked and kicked so, as almost to
throw down the men; and we quite expected to see the whole four and the
donkey roll into the moat together. At last, he was raised entirely on
their shoulders, and they ran across the bridge and set him down on the
other side.

"Are we to have this piece of fun every morning, Sir?" asked one of the
soldiers, as they stood panting and laughing.

"I hope not," I said, "I dare say he will be glad to go in to the grass
when we come back from our ride; and if he once crosses it, perhaps he
will not be afraid tomorrow."

So we took our ride; Neddy behaved quite as well as usual; his fright
did not appear at all to have disturbed his placidity; and in about two
hours we again stood before the terrible bridge. The gunner came out to
see how we should manage. We took off the saddle and bridle, and
invited Neddy to enter. There was the nice fresh grass, and banks to
roll upon, and to run up and down, looking very tempting through the
gate; and on the other side of the road, there was nothing but heaps of
stones and a great brown bog, stretching away as far as we could see,
with nothing at all to eat upon it. But for all that, Neddy looked at
the bridge; smelt it; and, resolutely turning his back to it, stared
dismally at the bog, as if he were thinking,

"I don't see anything that I can eat there."

However, it was evident that although the fear of starvation was before
him, he could not make up his mind to cross the ditch; and, in fact,
had absolutely determined not to do so.

We were in despair; but feeling sure that it would not do to have him
carried in and out every day; we disconsolately led him back to our
home, and told our troubles to Papa, who ordered him back to the stall
at the inn for the night.

Next day, we tried in all directions to find a field where Neddy could
graze; but no such place could be found. So we had a grand consultation
as to what must be done for him; and Papa said that he could not keep
him in a stall, feeding with hay, for, perhaps, half-a-year or more, as
he expected to remain where we were for a long time. So we made up our
minds to part with our donkey; and we did not regret it quite so much
at this time of year, as winter would soon come on, when, probably, we
should not be able to ride much.

We sent Neddy to the nearest town, about ten miles off; and a little
boy there became his master. And we kept his saddle and bridle, in
hopes of supplying his place some day.




BUNNY, THE WILD RABBIT.


We were now living in England, in a country place--fields and woods and
lanes all around. We took great pleasure in all the amusements of
country life.

Our Papa had some ferrets, which he used to take out for rat-hunting in
the corn stacks with a terrier we had, named Tawney, and other dogs;
and now and then he went to a rabbit warren at some little distance. A
boy one day brought from this warren a hat full of young rabbits for
the ferrets to eat. They were all supposed to be dead; but when Papa
was looking at them, he saw that one of the poor little things was
alive, so he brought it into the house and gave it to me and my sister,
saying that if we thought we could feed it we might keep it.

The poor little thing was so young, that it was a great chance whether
we could bring it up; but we had a cook who was very fond of all
animals, and she helped us to nurse it. She fed it with milk for a few
days, and then it soon began to nibble at bran and vegetables, and in a
week or two could eat quite as well as a full-grown rabbit.

The gardener made us a nice little house for it, by nailing some bars
across the open side of an old box, and it slept in this by the side of
the kitchen fire; but we never fastened it up so that it could not get
out, and in the day-time it was seldom in its box, but running about
the kitchen, and it soon found its way along the passage into the
sitting-room, and then upstairs to the nursery, and into all the
bed-rooms. It went up and down stairs quite easily, and seemed
perfectly happy running about the house.

It was a very strange thing that our terrier Tawney, of whom I have
much to tell afterwards, never thought of touching Bunny, for when out
of doors he was most eager after any sort of animal, would run for
miles after a rabbit or a hare, went perfectly crazy at the sight of a
cat, and was famous for rat-hunting and all such things; but as soon as
he entered the house, even if the saucy little Bunny bounded about just
before his nose, he would quietly pass by, apparently without an idea
that it was a thing to be hunted. In the evenings, when Tawney would
lie asleep on the rug, Bunny used to run over him, sometimes nestling
itself against his back or legs; then would pat his face with its fore
paws, and take all manner of liberties with him, he never so much as
growled or snapped at it, and seemed really to like the companionship
of the poor little creature.

One very favourite hiding-place of Bunny's was behind the books on the
dining-room shelves. These were quite low down to the floor, and if he
could find a gap where a book was taken out, he squeezed himself in,
and as the shelves were very wide, there was plenty of room for him to
run about behind the books. I suppose he liked the darkness, and
thought it was something like one of his native burrows, and if he
could not remember them, it was his natural propensity to live in
narrow dark passages, and therefore he preferred such places to the
open daylight. It was very funny to see his little brown face peeping
out between the books. Sometimes it happened that a book was replaced
whilst Bunny was snugly hidden behind, and then we missed him when we
went to put him to bed in his box for the night. First we went to look
for him in all the rooms, and about the passages, and if he was not in
the bookcase he would always come when we called, so when we saw
nothing of the little animal, we went and took a book out of each
shelf, and we were sure to see his bright eyes glistening in the dark,
and then out came little Bunny with a bound. He did not seem to care
for running into the garden or yard, which was odd; but as he grew
older his taste for burrowing showed itself strongly.

As he used to follow the cook about everywhere, he had of course been
often down to the cellar and larder. These were paved with small round
stones, and there was an inner cellar, or rather a sort of receptacle
for lumber of all sorts, which was not paved at all; it had a floor of
earth. Old hampers and boxes were put away there, sometimes potatoes
and carrots, etc., were spread on the floor there, and altogether the
place had a very damp, earthy sort of smell, perhaps very like the
inside of a rabbit burrow, and one day the cook came to ask Mamma to
come and look at the litter Bunny had made in the cellar. We all ran
down, and saw that Bunny had scratched up a quantity of earth from
between the little stones with which the cellar was paved; in fact the
cellar floor looked almost like a flower-bed, all earth. The door into
the inner cellar happened to be shut, or most probably he would have
commenced his operations where there were no stones to hinder him.

Mamma said that the gardener should press down the earth again between
the stones, and tighten any that were loose, and that Bunny must not be
allowed at any time to go down into the cellar. But it was very
difficult to prevent his doing so. In summer, the meat and the milk
were kept down there, as being the coolest place, and the beer barrels
were there, and the coals, in different compartments; and to fetch all
these different things somebody or other was perpetually opening the
door at the top of the stairs. So Bunny frequently found opportunities
for slipping in at the open door, and he came every day less and less
into the sitting-rooms. One evening he had the cunning to hide himself
behind some of the empty hampers in the inner cellar, and when we
called him, and looked about for him in the evening, no Bunny appeared.
In vain we took books out of all the shelves, hunted behind the
curtains, under the sofas, and in all his usual hiding-places, we were
obliged to give it up, and go to bed without finding him.

The next morning, we renewed our search, and seeing no sign of his work
in the outer cellar, we determined to have a regular rummage in the
inner one. After moving a great many bottles, baskets, boxes, and
barrels, we found a great hole. The earth had evidently been just
scratched out; for it was quite moist and fresh. The busy little fellow
had made a long burrow during the night in the floor of the cellar.
When he heard our voices, he came out of his newly-made retreat, and we
took him up stairs and gave him some food; for he was quite ravenous
after his hard work. Then we consulted with his friend the cook, how to
manage about him in future. It would certainly never do to let him go
on burrowing under the house; in time we should have all the walls
undermined, and the house would come tumbling down upon us, burying us
in the ruins. Terrible, indeed, was the catastrophe that we created in
our imagination from the small foundation of Bunny's having scratched a
hole in the cellar! And now that he had once tried and enjoyed the
pleasures of burrowing, we could scarcely expect that he would
relinquish it again.

We went to talk about it to Mamma; and we proposed that Bunny should
live in the garden.

"But," said Mamma, "I shall have all my nice borders scratched into
holes; and the roots of my beautiful rose-trees laid bare; and, in
short, the whole flower-garden destroyed, to say nothing of the
kitchen-garden, which would, of course, become a mere burrow."

"Well, then, Mamma," we said; "we must make him a much larger house,
and keep him in it altogether. We will not let him have his liberty at
all; and then it will be impossible for him to do any mischief."

But Mamma said, that although that plan would certainly prevent Bunny
from burrowing; she thought that it would not be a very happy life for
the poor little animal, who had been accustomed all his life to perfect
liberty, and had never been confined to one place.

We could think of no other plan; so begged Mamma to tell us what she
thought we had better do.

"Do you remember," said Mamma, "seeing a number of little brown
rabbits, running about and darting in and out of their holes, in the
wild part of the fir-woods, where we sometimes drive. There is a great
deal of fern and grass about there, and nothing at all to prevent the
rabbits from burrowing and enjoying their lives without any one to
molest them. I advise you to take Bunny there, and to turn him loose in
the fir-wood; he will very soon find some companion and make himself a
home; and do you not think he will be far happier when leading that
life of freedom, than if kept in a wooden house, or even if allowed to
burrow in a cellar?"

After some deliberation, we agreed to follow Mamma's advice; and the
next day we drove to the fir-wood, taking Bunny with us in a basket.

We drove slowly along the skirts of the wood, looking for a nice place
to turn him out. At last, we came to an open space among the fir-trees;
the ground was there thickly covered with long grass, ferns, and
wild-flowers, and the banks beneath the firs were full of rabbit-holes;
we saw many little heads popping in and out.

"This is just the place," we cried. "What a beautiful sweet fresh place
to live in; and we got down and went a little way into the grass; then
we placed the basket on the ground and opened it. Bunny soon put up his
head, snuffed the sunny sweet air, and glanced about him in all
directions. No doubt he was filled with wonder at the change from our
kitchen or dark cellars, to this lovely wood; with a bright blue sky,
instead of a ceiling; waving green trees, instead of white walls; and
on the ground, in place of a bare stone floor; inexhaustible delights
in the way of food; and soft earth for burrowing. Having admired all
this, he jumped out of the basket; first he nibbled a little bit of
grass, then ran a little way among the ferns.

"Do let us watch him till he runs into a rabbit hole," we said to
Mamma.

And Mamma said she would drive up and down the road that skirted the
firs, for about half-an-hour, and we might watch Bunny.

He wandered about for a long time among the grass and plants; and at
last we lost sight of him in a thick mass of broom and ferns.

Mamma thought it was useless to search for him; there was no doubt that
he would thoroughly appreciate the advantages of the fir-wood. So we
gathered a large bunch of wild flowers, jumped into the carriage, and
left Bunny in his beautiful new home.




THE JACKDAW.


One morning, my sister was sitting with Mamma at the dining-room
window, when they saw me coming down the garden walk, with my head bent
down, and something perched on my back.

"Look!" said Mamma, "What has your brother got on his back?"

Up started my sister.

"Oh!" cried she, "It is something alive; it is black: what can it be?"

And she darted out to look at my prize.

It was a fine glossy fully-fledged Jackdaw. The gardener, knowing my
love for pets of all kinds, had rescued it from the hands of some boys,
who had found a nest of jackdaws, and had presented it to me.

Although it was quite young, it looked like a solemn old man; the crown
of its head was becoming very grey; and it put its head on one side,
and examined us in such a funny manner, listening with a wise look when
we spoke, as if considering what we were saying.

The gardener had cut one of his wings pretty close, and the remaining
wing was not very large. We set him down in the garden, and watched him
for some time, in order to be certain that he could not fly over the
low wall that separated our garden from the road. And we soon saw that
he could only flutter a few inches from the ground, and hop in a very
awkward sidelong manner; there was no fear of his escaping.

Luckily, there was a large wicker cage, that had once been used for a
thrush, in the coach-house. We fetched this out, cleaned it, and placed
Jacky in it on the ground near some shady bushes. We left the door
open, that he might hop in and out, and always kept a saucer of food
for him in the cage.

He soon became very tame; would hop on our wrists and let us carry him
about, and liked sitting on our shoulders, as we went about the garden.
Near his cage was a large lilac-bush, and he found that he could hop
nearly to the top by means of its branches; and he picked out for
himself a nice perch there, in a sort of bower of lilac-leaves and
flowers.

Finding this much pleasanter than the cage, he soon deserted that
entirely; and at night, and whenever he was not hopping about the
garden, or playing with us, he was to be found always on the same twig
in the lilac bush.

We used to place his saucer of sopped bread, and his saucer of water at
the foot of the bush.

When we passed, he used to shout "Jacky!" and soon began to try other
words; and tried to imitate all sorts of sounds and noises.

In the heat of summer, when the bed-room windows were all opened at
daylight, we used to hear him practising talking in his bush. He barked
like the dogs; utterly failed in his attempt to sing like the canaries;
mewed like pussy very well, indeed; and then kept up an indescribable
kind of chattering, which we called saying his lessons; for we supposed
that he intended it to imitate our repeating of lessons, which he heard
every morning through the dining-room window.

Sometimes we heard more noise than he could possibly make alone; and we
softly got out of our beds, and peeped through the window to discover
what it was about. There must have been six or seven other jackdaws,
running round and about his bush, hopping up and down into it;
apparently trying how they liked his house, and having all sorts of fun
and conversation with our Jacky.

Within a few fields of our garden walls, stood the old ruin of a hall
or manor-house; it had once, doubtless, been large and handsome;
nothing now remained of it but the outer wall, a few mullioned windows,
and some remnants of stone-staircases. The walls being very thick and
much broken, afforded excellent holes and corners for jackdaws'-nests;
for owls and such things. Indeed, it was from one of these holes in the
ruined hall, that Jacky had been taken. And the numerous feathered
inhabitants of the "Old Hall," as it was called, having spied our pet,
sitting in lonely state in his bower among the lilac leaves, doubtless
thought he would be grateful for a little company, and the society of
his equals; so kindly used to pay him a visit in the early morning,
before children or gardener were likely to interfere.

We were rather afraid that the wild jackdaws might entice away our
Jacky, by describing to him their own free life, and the mode of
existence in the crumbling walls of their home. But when Mamma made us
observe how very awkwardly he hopped about with his cropped wing, and
how utterly impossible it was for him to fly across two or three
fields, and to the top of the ruin, we were satisfied that his stay in
our garden was compulsory; and we agreed that the "Old Hall" jackdaws
might visit him as much as they pleased. But they never once came at
any other time than very early in the morning.

I suppose Jacky thought that he had kept these visits a profound secret
from us.

As he grew older, he became extremely mischievous. When Mamma was busy
in the garden, he used to come down from his tree and follow her about
from one border to another, watching earnestly whatever she was doing;
and whilst she tied up the plants, or gathered away the dead leaves and
flowers, he used to put his head on one side, and seemed to be
considering for what purpose this or that was done.

Mamma was planting a quantity of sweet peas, in order to have a second
and late crop, after the first had begun to fade. She planted them in
circles, twelve peas in each, and a white marker was stuck in the
centre of each patch. As it was fine warm weather, Mamma expected that
these peas would very soon appear; but in a few days, when she went to
look at them, she saw that all the white markers had been pulled up and
thrown on one side.

So she called to us, "Children! I am afraid you have meddled with my
seed markers; for they have all been taken out, and I stuck them firmly
in the ground; some one must have touched them."

We assured Mamma that we were not the delinquents; indeed, we were too
fond of all the beautiful flowers to injure them in any way.

When we looked closer, we saw that there was an empty hole in each
place where Mamma had planted a pea. They had every one been picked
out.

Whilst we were wondering who could have done this, the gardener passed,
and Mamma showed him the empty holes, and the markers pulled up; and
asked him who he thought likely to have done such a piece of mischief.

"I shouldn't wonder if it war he," said the gardener, pointing to
Jacky, who, as usual, was close to Mamma, listening attentively to all
we said.

"Jacky, Jacky!" shouted he, making some of his awkward jumps at the
same time, and going close to the ring of little holes, he peeped down
them, with his head on one side, as if to make sure that he had left
nothing at the bottom.

We could not help laughing at the queer old-fashioned manner of the
creature; but, at the same time, it was very annoying for Mamma to lose
all the pretty and sweet flowers through Jacky's greediness.

She said she would plant some more immediately; and she sent my sister,
with Jacky on her wrist, to the front of the house, with orders to stay
there till the planting was finished, so that the mischievous bird
might not watch the whole process, and would not know where the seeds
were planted.

I staid to help Mamma; we planted rings of sweet peas in different
places from the old ones; and instead of white markers, which might
attract Jacky's notice, we stuck in a great many bramble-sticks, all
round every patch, so closely that a much smaller bird than Jacky would
have found it difficult to squeeze himself in between the rough prickly
twigs. Then we thought that all was safe, and we let Jacky come back to
his perch.

The next day he had not touched the brambles; but I suppose he had
thought it necessary to do something in the way of gardening; so he had
fetched up, from the farthest end of the kitchen garden, a roll of
bass, or strips of old matting, that was used for tying plants and
flowers to sticks. This he had pulled into little shreds, all about the
lawn and the flower-beds, and a great deal of time and trouble he must
have spent upon his work. How the gardener did scold! saying, that it
would take the whole afternoon to clear away the litter, and that Jacky
did more mischief than he was worth; and so on.

But Jacky was a privileged person, and did pretty much as he liked; so
it was of no use to complain about him.

It was most amusing to see how he teased the gardener when mowing was
going on; he would watch his opportunity, and when no one chanced to be
looking, he would run away with a bit of carpet or piece of old
flannel, that the gardener used to wipe his scythe; or else he would
drag away the hone, or sharpening-stone, and hide it under his
lilac-bush.

So gardener, finding him a great nuisance on mowing days, told us that
he should certainly mow off Jacky's head or legs some day; for he would
come hopping about among the cut grass; and if taken up and landed in
his tree, he would immediately come down again, and thrust himself just
in the way.

So for the future, we took care on mowing days to shut up Jacky in the
nursery, or in the dining-room, where he used with a rueful countenance
to watch all proceedings through the window, pecking now and then in a
spiteful way at the glass.

  [Illustration: THE SPARROW-HAWK AND CAT.
  _Page 45._]

Whilst Jacky was in our possession, we had a sparrow-hawk for a short
time. Papa brought him home one evening in a paper bag; he was a very
handsome fellow, with such brilliant eyes, and such a beak! He was
perfectly wild, and bit furiously at any hand that approached him; so
we covered up his head in a pocket-handkerchief, whilst gardener
fastened a small chain round his leg. Then we fixed a short stump in
the grass, not far from Jacky's lilac, and fastened the end of the
chain to the stump. So he could run and hop about for a yard or two
round the stump; we intended to keep him there until he became a little
tamer, and hoped that the example of his neighbour would teach him good
manners. But instead of taking Jacky as a pattern, the new comer
bullied him in a most dreadful way. We might have saved ourselves the
trouble of chaining him, for he snapped the chain in two with his
strong beak, and came down from his stump quite at liberty to roam
about. Strange to say, he did not go away altogether, but walked in at
the dining-room window. We were seated at tea, and not knowing that the
hawk had liberated himself, we were quite startled at hearing a curious
flapping in the corner of the room, but we soon saw the two brilliant
eyes, and there sat Mr. Sparrow-hawk, on the top of the book-case. We
took him out and confined him to his stump again. There he staid
quietly all night; but next day we heard Jacky pitying himself in his
bush, and we found him fidgetting about in the top of the lilac, and
fearing to come down, because Mr. Sparrow-hawk was walking about at the
bottom, and whenever poor Jacky ventured down, he was darted at by the
new comer, and hastily scrambled up the bush again. This was done out
of pure love of teasing, for the hawk would not condescend to touch
Jacky's food, consisting of sopped bread; but yet he would not let the
poor old grey-head come down to eat his own breakfast. Jacky was quite
crest-fallen, and we procured a stronger chain which held Mr.
Sparrow-hawk fast on his stump for several days, during which time
Jacky regained his equanimity.

But then the chain was burst again, and this time the hawk took to
chasing the cats as well as tormenting Jacky. We had two cats, they
were very good friends with Jacky, and used wander about the garden a
good deal; quite unconscious of what was in store for them; they
commenced playing about Mr. Sparrow-hawk's stump, when down stepped the
gentleman and nipped the tail of the nearest cat quite tightly in his
sharp beak, poor pussy shrieked and mewed, and we had to go to her
rescue. At last we left off chaining the hawk, as we found that he did
not try to escape, but sat on his stump or else came into the house;
and we often were startled by finding him perched on a table, or on the
bannisters, but at the same time he would not become tame, and he so
terrified and annoyed poor Jacky, that we soon sent him away; and
certainly the cats and Jacky must have rejoiced, when they found the
savage owner of the stump had disappeared. The only sign of
civilization which Mr. Sparrow-hawk had shown, was one evening, when a
gentleman who visited us, happened to be playing the flute in the
drawing-room. The hawk never came into the room when any one was there,
and had very often heard the piano and singing; but probably the
peculiar sound of the flute had something very pleasing to the bird's
ear, for although this room was full of people, he came to the open
window, hopped in, and gradually approached the flute-player, till he
perched himself on the end of the flute. When the music ceased, the
hawk, quietly took himself out of the window again, and next day was as
wild as ever.

One of Jacky's great pleasures during the summer, was bathing or
washing at the sink in the back kitchen. We always took care that he
was provided with a large saucer of water, which stood beneath his
lilac bush, but this did not appear to be sufficient. One day when the
cook was pumping water out of the sink-pump, Jacky jumped up, and put
his head under the stream, shouting and fluttering, with expressions of
the greatest delight; and after this he generally came every day into
the back kitchen, and called and hopped about until cook came and
pumped over him. Such a miserable half drowned creature as he looked,
with all his feathers sticking close to his body; then he used to
repair to the kitchen and sit before the fire, till he became dry.
Sometimes he got upon the fender, and when the fire was large, it made
his feathers appear quite to smoke, by so rapidly drawing out the
water. Once he was actually singeing, when the cook snatched him up and
put him out of the window, and it was strange that he seemed to like
the roasting at the fire, quite as well as the cold water.

He soon discovered the time that tea was prepared in the kitchen, and
regularly came to the window to ask for tea and bread and butter; so a
saucer of tea and a piece of bread and butter were placed on the
window-sill for him, as punctually as the cook's own tea was prepared;
and Jacky sipped his tea, and ate his bread and butter like any old
washerwoman. But whilst sitting at the kitchen window he spied all
sorts of things on cook's little work-table that strongly tempted his
thieving propensities, and coming cautiously one morning, when the cook
was absent, he pretty well cleared the table; very many journeys in and
out must it have cost him, for when the poor cook returned to her
kitchen, she began exclaiming. "Who has been meddling with my work and
all my things?" and she called to me and my sister, and asked if we had
hidden her work materials to plague her. "No indeed," we said, "we have
not been here this morning at all."

"Well then," said she, "what has become of my thimble, my scissors, and
reels of cotton, my work, that I laid upon the table, and there was
also an account-book of your Mamma's, and a pen; I don't see one of
them!" We hunted about for the missing articles. The kitchen window
looked out on a plantation, not far from Jacky's bush. My sister looked
out. "Oh!" cried she, "there is one leaf of your account-book on the
border." "And I declare," exclaimed cook, who had run to the window,
"there is one of my new reels twisted round and round yon rose tree; I
do believe it's that mischeevous bird." We were delighted. We both
sprang out of the window--"There's your thimble," I shouted, "full of
wet mould!" "And here are your scissors," cried my sister, "in Jacky's
drinking saucer! And there is your half-made shirt, hanging on the rose
bush beneath the window!" Poor cook could not forbear laughing. "Well,"
said she, "he must have been right-down busy to take off all these
things in about five minutes. Gather up my things for me, like good
bairns." So we ran about picking up the things; the cotton reels were
restored with about half their supply of cotton, as he had twisted them
all round about the stems of different plants; the pen was stuck into
the earth, and as for the account-book, the leaves were all about the
garden, some he had even carried down to the cucumber frame, quite at
the other end. But he was such a favourite, that even this sort of
trick was allowed to pass unpunished. He furnished us with much
amusement; and I am now coming to his sad end.

The wall which separated our garden from the road, was very rough and
old, full of holes and crumbling mortar. Once or twice, when sitting at
the windows, we had seen a small animal run across the gravel walk; we
could not discern whether it was most like a rat or a weasel, and
probably it came in through one of the holes in the wall. We did think
of Jacky; but knowing that he always roosted at the top of the lilac
bush, we supposed that he was quite out of the reach of rat or weasel.
One morning quite early, our Papa whose window was open, heard a very
strange sort of chattering from poor Jacky, so unlike his usual
language, that he got up and looked out of his window. Seeing nothing,
and hearing no more, he went to bed again; but when Mamma went as usual
to give Jacky his breakfast, no call of pleasure came from the bush, no
Jacky was there, and he was no where to be seen.

"Then a weasel has taken him," said Papa, when we told him; "the
singular cry he made this morning, was doubtless when the weasel seized
him." And when we searched about the garden, there we found on a grass
bank, at some distance, the remains of our poor pet. The weasel had
bitten him behind the ear, and sucked the blood; his feathers were a
good deal ruffled, but no other bite had been made. We blamed ourselves
much, for not having safely fastened him in a cage every night in the
house. But now we could do nothing but bury the body of poor Jacky.




PRICKER, THE HEDGEHOG.


Shortly after poor Jacky's death, Papa called us into the garden.

"Children!" he said, "Here is something for you in my handkerchief.
Guess what it is; but don't touch."

The handkerchief looked as if something very heavy was in it; and we
guessed all sorts of things, but in vain.

At last Papa let us feel, and my sister grasped it rather roughly; but
withdrew her hand quickly, with five or six sharp pricks.

"Oh! it is a nasty hedgehog," cried she; "look how my fingers are
bleeding!"

"Not a _nasty_ hedgehog," I said, "but a curious nice creature; where
did you get it, Papa?"

"It was given to me this morning for you," he replied; "It will live in
the garden; and you must sometimes give it a little milk, and it will
do very well; and perhaps become quite tame."

The little creature, when placed on the grass, did not curl itself up
and appear affrighted, but looked about him, and ran quickly to and
fro. We brought some milk out in a saucer, but he could not manage to
get his nose over the side; so we made a little pond of the milk on the
grass, and he dipped his black snout into it, and then sucked it up
greedily.

This hedgehog soon became very tame; when we took him up in our hands,
he did not curl up in afright, but let us look at his feet, and touch
and pat his curious little pig's face. He helped himself to what he
liked best in the garden; and we never found that he rooted up
anything, or did the slightest damage; he liked the milk which we gave
him daily; and when we were playing on the grass, he used to run about
us, as if he liked our company.

We had been told that we should never be able to keep a hedgehog; that
they always climbed over the walls, and escaped to the fields and
hedges.

But although we did not in any way confine Pricker, he never attempted
to leave us, being apparently quite content with his run of the kitchen
garden, flower garden and house; for we sometimes carried him into the
kitchen, and up stairs into the nursery, where he would roll himself up
into some snug corner, and remain apparently asleep for an hour or
more.

When we had had Pricker for some weeks, we received a present of a
second hedgehog. He was larger, but never became so tame as our first
friend; he did not like to be taken up in our hands, and we never could
obtain a good look at his black face and legs, as he rolled up on the
slightest touch; and when Pricker was running about on the grass, his
shy companion used to remain hidden beneath the leaves and plants.

We had, at this time, a very favourite dog; and at the first coming of
the hedgehogs, we were in some fear that Tawney would kill them, for he
was a most eager hunter of rats, weasels, rabbits, cats; in short, of
anything that would run from him.

But every one assured us that a dog would not kill a hedgehog, on
account of his sharp prickles; and the first time that we showed
Pricker to Tawney, he made a sort of dart at him, and received, of
course, a violent prick on the nose; at this he retreated, barking and
licking his lips, and dancing round poor Pricker, with every desire to
attack again; but hoping to find a spot unprotected by the formidable
spikes.

Pricker, however, having tightly rolled himself up, such a spot was not
to be found; and, after a great deal of noise and excitement, Tawney
retired, and we never observed him to venture again.

When Pricker was running on the grass, or when we were feeding him with
milk, Tawney used to play about without condescending to take the
slightest notice of the little animal; in short, he pretended not to
see him. So that we felt quite easy about the safety of Pricker and his
comrade.

What it was that induced Tawney not only to _see_ Pricker, but to
attack him again, we do not know, as nobody was witness of the
catastrophe.

On going into the garden one brilliant morning, Tawney made his
appearance in a very excited state, bounding about our feet with a
short delighted bark, that was not usually his morning salutation; and
on looking more closely at him, we saw that his nose was bleeding;
indeed, his whole head and ears were much ruffled and marked.

We did not at first think of Pricker; but on wiping Tawney's face with
a wet towel, we found that he was bleeding from many wounds.

"The hedgehog!" we exclaimed, "He must have killed poor Pricker."

So we commenced a grand hunt through the garden, looking under all the
cabbage-plants, and in all the usual haunts.

Behind the cucumber frame we found our hedgehog; but as he curled up
the moment we looked at him, we knew that it was not Pricker; and on
further search we discovered the mangled remains of the poor animal,
whose natural armour had not been sufficient to protect him from so
brave and plucky a little dog as our Tawney, who must really have
suffered greatly from the deep thrusts into his face and head before he
could have inflicted a mortal bite.

Now, we thought, what shall we do with the other; as, doubtless,
Tawney, would not allow him to live, having found himself the conqueror
in the present instance.

Papa said that a gentlemen, one of our neighbours, had been telling him
that his kitchen was infested with black beetles; and that he had tried
beetle-traps, and all sorts of methods of getting rid of them in vain.
Papa had told him that the surest way was to keep a hedgehog in the
kitchen, as they devour black-beetles greedily.

"Now," said Papa, "as you cannot keep the little creature in safety
here, you had better make a present of it to Mr. D----; and I advise
you to carry it to him at once."

Accordingly, we took the hedgehog to our neighbour, and it was duly
installed in the kitchen.

In a day or two, we went to enquire whether the beetles were
decreasing.

Alas! the poor hedgehog had fallen a victim to his own greediness; for,
having eaten too many beetles, he was found dead amidst a heap of the
slain.




DRAKE, THE RETRIEVER.


It happened at this time that we passed another winter in Ireland; and
missing our garden, and other occupations, my father made us a present
of a dog.

Drake was a large handsome retriever of a dark brown colour, with very
short curly hair. I believe that sort of dog is called the "Irish
Retriever;" they are certainly very common in that country. I remember
to have seen many of them; but our Drake, we thought, was handsomer
than the generality; his coat was more curly and of a better colour,
and he was taller--for they often have rather short legs in proportion
to their body. He was a very rough bouncing creature, full of life and
activity; many a tumble, and many a hard knock we received in our games
with him; he used to bound at us, and putting both paws on our
shoulders, roll us over like ninepins.

It was winter when he came to us--a very hard winter, almost constant
frost, and now and then heavy falls of snow--we were at that time in a
small fort on the bank of the Shannon; and although that is a very
broad, deep, and rapid river, it was once, during the winter, quite
frozen over for more than a week; and, after that, when the strongest
current remained unfrozen, there was still a great deal of ice on the
sides, and all among the sedges and rushes that grew among the flat
banks.

Drake liked the cold very much, and liked rolling in the snow, and
being pelted with snow-balls, which was our chief amusement out of
doors during the winter.

In the house we had fine games of hide and seek; we hid a glove or
pocket-handkerchief under the sofa-cushion, or in the curtain, or in
Mamma's pocket, and telling Drake to find it; he would rush frantically
about the room, snuffing in every hole and corner, until he brought to
light the hidden article. Then we had races, in and out the bed-rooms
and sitting-rooms, up and down the stairs, and round the tables; but
these races generally ended by something being thrown down, or, at
least, by our clothes being torn in Drake's exultation at catching us.

Whilst the hard frosts lasted, Papa had Drake out with him a great
deal.

Wild geese and wild ducks abounded on the river; but they were
extremely difficult to shoot; they generally flew in great numbers, and
seemed to keep a sentinel, or one to look out; for it was almost
impossible to approach them near enough to have them within the reach
of a shot.

It was now that Drake's fetching and carrying propensities became most
valuable.

Papa had a flat punt constructed; it was a most curious-looking boat,
so flat that it scarcely stood out of the water at all; inside was
fixed a large duck-gun on a swivel, and then there was just room for
Papa, and one man, to lie down at the bottom, with Drake; it was rowed
by one paddle at the stern.

  [Illustration: DRAKE, THE RETRIEVER.
  _Page 57._]

The geese and ducks used to come to feed on the river's banks very
early indeed in the morning; and so watchful and shy were they, that
even in the flat punt, Papa found that he could not come at all near
them unperceived. Off they would all go again, making such a flapping
with their great wings, and quacking as they went.

So Papa, having noticed a flat swampy sort of place, some way down the
river, set out late at night in the punt; and, reaching this
feeding-ground, waited there till the flock came flying over them. They
made themselves heard sometime before they arrived; and then Papa, the
man, and Drake, all crouched down and remained immoveable until the
birds were right overhead; and then, bang went the great duck-gun, and
down tumbled, at least, half-a-dozen great fat geese.

Now was Drake's time; and but for him no geese would have been brought
home, although many might have been shot.

Out of the punt sprang Drake, and soon carried back one or two that had
fallen into the open water; then he would carefully get upon the thin
ice, between the rushes and the coarse grass, and bring to light any
wounded bird that had sought to find a shelter there. Then again into
the water where great thick reeds prevented the boat from going; if the
birds dived, he dived after them; and, in short, none escaped him; he
swam after them, scrambled along the ice after them, rummaged in the
weeds all stiff with frozen snow, and having seized one and hurried
back to the boat with it, off he would start for another.

But when the flock had once received a shot, they came no more to the
same place that night; so no more was to be done, unless a chance bird
or two on the way home. Sometimes they flew one or two together; we
have seen them from the windows of the fort, fly quite close to the
bridge in the daytime; but only great hunger could have driven them to
this.

When the party reached home, and the birds were spread out on the floor
to be looked at, how pleased Drake was, and how proudly he snuffed from
one to the other.

The wild geese were very handsome birds, not so large as common geese,
but very plump, and with a beautiful dark brown plumage. They were very
good to eat, for they do not live on fish, as some suppose, but eat
only the weeds and grass that they find in certain spots along the
river's bank. But the ducks were handsomer still, very nearly as large
as the geese; less tough when cooked, and having brilliant blue
feathers in each wing. Then there was a smaller kind of duck, with
green feathers instead of blue, in the wings; this green was like the
humming bird's green, as bright as emerald.

Besides these, there were teals, very pretty-looking things with
silvery looking feathers on the breast, and a variety of small ducks,
and curlews. All pretty, and all good to eat; we had to thank Drake for
every one of them, as without his help very few would have been picked
up; there was so much thin ice along the river, that would not have
borne a greater weight than Drake, so when they fell upon this, they
were quite out of man's reach, to say nothing of the difficulty of
groping out a wounded bird from a wilderness of long grass and rushes,
growing in pretty deep water. Drake highly enjoyed the night
expeditions, and when the punt was getting ready, or the gun cleaning,
he would jump about and bark, as if to say "I know what is in
contemplation."

When the winter was nearly passed, we went back to England, leaving
Drake in the fort; being much played with and sometimes teazed by the
soldiers, he became very rough, and rather inclined to snap and bite.
Shortly afterwards he was sent to us in England, and on his arrival we
brought him in, to have a game with us in the house. We had a large
ball, and were making Drake fetch it, when we rolled it to the end of
the room. This went on very well for some time, excepting that Drake
did not give the ball up without a growl, which he had never done
formerly; and at last, he laid down with it between his fore feet, and
I desired him to bring it in vain, so I went to him and took it in my
hand, when he flew at me with a growl, and bit my cheek. It was not a
very severe bite, but Mamma said she would not keep the best dog in the
world after he had bitten one of us, and that Drake must immediately be
sent away. Then Papa wrote to a gentleman who knew what a clever dog at
finding game Drake was, and he agreed to buy him. So he was sent off
without our seeing him again.




TAWNEY, THE TERRIER.


We now come to the very chief of our favourites, our dear dog Tawney.
Before he arrived, we only had a setter who lived in his kennel in the
yard, and we never petted him much; and once when Papa went away for
several months, he took the dog with him, so we were without any guard.

At this time a great many robberies had taken place, and houses had
been broken into in the neighbouring town. There appeared to be a gang
of house-breakers going about. And when Mamma was writing to our
Grandmamma, she said that she quite expected a visit from this gang,
some night, as Papa was away, and no man in the house. Grandmamma
replied that the best safeguard was a little terrier, sleeping inside
the house, and that she would send her one; and in a few days we
received a beautiful terrier, close haired and compact, with such
brilliant dark eyes and of a yellowish colour, more the colour of a
lion than anything else, so we named him "Tawney." A bed was arranged
for him in a flat basket, which was placed every evening near the back
door, and we soon found what sharp ears he had, and what a good
watch-dog he would prove. If Mamma got up after every one had gone to
bed, and opened her own door as softly as possible, Tawney heard the
lock turn, and barked instantly. He always gave notice when anybody
entered the front gate, or came into the yard, and we felt sure that no
housebreaker could approach the house _unheard_ at least.

Tawney became our constant companion. He took his meals with us, sat
under the table during our lessons, walked out with us, joined in all
our romps and games; and was really almost as companionable as another
child could have been. At hide and seek, running races, leaping over a
pole, and blind man's buff, he played as well as any boy, and when we
drove in the pony carriage, he amused us excessively. He darted into
every door or gate he found open, and in passing through the town he
behaved so badly with respect to the cats, that we were obliged to take
him into the carriage, until we had quite left the streets. If he saw a
poor quiet cat sitting at a door he flew at her; and if the cat took
refuge in the house, Tawney followed, barking and yelping, and doing
all he could to worry poor puss. Of course this was not at all pleasing
to the inmates, and generally Tawney emerged, as quickly as he entered,
followed by a flying broom-stick, sometimes by the contents of a pail
of dirty water; and often by an angry scolding woman, whom we had to
appease as we best could. Then if he saw a little child with a piece of
bread, or a mug of milk, he would seize upon the food, knocking down
the child by the roughness of his spring; and then we had again to
apologise and explain, and regret, and so on; and although all these
pranks were done in the joy and delight of his heart, at starting for a
good run in the country, that was no comfort to the aggrieved cats and
children; and he became so unbearable when in the town, that we used to
make a circuit to avoid the streets, or else as I said before, take him
inside the carriage.

Then when we reached the lanes and roads, we gave him his liberty,
which he thoroughly enjoyed. How he raced before us, how he sprang over
the hedges and walls, sometimes disappearing entirely for a field or
two, and then suddenly darting out from some wood or garden! Once or
twice he returned to the carriage with his nose bloody; we could not
discover what he had been worrying. But it must be confessed that he
was a fierce little animal, and had no idea of fearing anything.

Sometimes he disappeared altogether when running after the carriage,
and more than once staid out all night and even two nights; but always
returned safely and in good plight, as if he had not been starved.

We used to wish that he had the power of telling us his adventures on
these occasions: where he had slept; what pranks he had played; and in
how many scrapes and difficulties he had found himself.

His greatest delight was when Papa took him with us to hunt a stack for
rats. Oh! what a wonderful state of excitement was Tawney in; he used
to sit staring at a hole in the stack as if his eyes would spring from
his head, and shaking in every limb with delightful expectation. Then,
when the rat bolted from his concealment, what a sharp spring did the
little fellow make; and having dispatched his victim, would peer up to
the top of the stack and seem to examine so carefully all up the side,
to discover another hole that looked promising. If none offered, he
would run off to another stack, and snuffing all round it, search most
carefully for signs of rat holes.

One of Tawney's most annoying tricks, was his love of fighting; he
scarcely ever met with another dog, without flying at him and provoking
him to a severe contest, in which torn ears were his usual reward; but
this sort of hurt was perfectly disregarded by him.

On one occasion, we went a journey to the sea-shore, and Tawney was put
into a dog-box, with several other dogs.

While the train was in motion the rattle and noise prevented us from
hearing them; but at the first station a most tremendous yelping,
snarling, and shrieking arose from the dog-box; and, on opening the
door, the whole number of dogs were tearing and biting each other; no
doubt, having been invited to the contest by our naughty Tawney. The
combatants having been separated by dint of dragging at their tails,
legs, and bodies, Tawney, with damaged mouth and ears, though wagging
his tail and wriggling about with pleasure, was consigned to a solitary
prison for the rest of the journey; and the remaining dogs were left to
lick their wounds in peace.

We were anxious to see what Tawney would think of the sea; we had
neither river, pond, or lake, near our home in the country, so had
never had an opportunity of trying his powers of swimming.

The first day that we went down to the shingle, the sea was very rough;
great tops of white foam rolling over on the beach; and we had no idea
that the little fellow would venture into the midst of such a very
novel-looking element.

However, we flung a stick in. "Fetch it, Tawney! Fetch it!"

And in plunged the bold little animal; the first wave threw him up on
the beach again, looking rather astonished; but he did not hesitate to
try again. The water being so rough, we did not urge his going in any
further, fearing that he might be washed away; but on smooth days, he
would swim out a long way, and bring back any floating thing that was
thrown in; and he enjoyed his swims as much as any regular water-dog
could do.

He had a habit of paying visits by himself, when we were at home; he
used regularly to go down the road to a farmer, at some little
distance, every morning about eight o'clock, and quietly return,
trotting along the footpath at nine, which, doubtless, he knew to be
the breakfast hour.

Whilst we were at the sea-side, he used to visit a family with whom we
were intimate. Running to their gate, he waited till some one rang, and
entered with them; if their business was not in the drawing-room, he
again waited till some other person opened the door, and then he
settled himself on the hearth-rug for about half an hour; after which,
he took leave by wagging his tail, and came home again.

The lodging in which we were, was one on a long terrace, the front
looking on the sea, and the back having a long strip of yard opening
into a lane. The kitchen being in front, Tawney found that he was not
heard when he barked to be let in at the back of the house.

But the servant did not approve of coming up the steep kitchen stairs
to let in Mr. Tawney, when the back door was level with the kitchen,
and only a step for her; and, in some way, Tawney comprehended this;
for he used to come to the front of the house; and the area of the
kitchen-window being close to the front door, he was sure that his bark
was heard. Then he raced round the end of the terrace, and through the
lane, to the back door; and by the time cook had gone to open it, there
was Mr. Tawney ready to enter.

There being no fear of housebreakers or thieves here, the dog was
allowed to sleep in Mamma's bed-room; we provided him with a box and
some folds of carpeting at the bottom, and made him, we thought, a soft
comfortable bed.

But Tawney much preferred sheets and blankets, and, my sister sleeping
in a little bed in the corner of Mamma's room, he used to wait till she
was fast asleep, and then slip himself on to the bed so quietly as not
to wake her; and, getting down to the foot of the bed, would remain
there till morning.

But Mamma said he must stay in his box; and forbad my sister to allow
him to get on the bed.

As, however, he never tried to do so until she was asleep, she could
not prevent it. So Mamma listened, and when she heard Tawney very
softly leave his box and go to the bed, she got up and whipped him, and
put him back in his box, ordering him to stay there.

Several nights this took place; till Tawney had the cunning to wait
till Mamma also was asleep, when he crept into the warm resting-place,
and staid there in peace till the morning.

When daylight appeared, he returned to his own bed, in order to avoid
the morning whipping, which he knew would come, were he discovered in
the forbidden place.

When we were returning home, we were to make some visits in London; so,
thinking it best not to take Tawney, we entrusted him to a man who was
going to our own town, with many charges as to feeding and watching
him.

And when we had left London and arrived at home, there was poor Tawney
safe and well, and extravagantly delighted to see us.

When we enquired about his behaviour on the road, of the man who had
brought him, he told us that he had been in a terrible fright at the
London station, thinking that he had lost Tawney entirely.

He had to cross London from one station to another; and there was an
hour or two to spare before the starting of the train from the second
station; so, wishing to leave the station for that time, and fearing to
risk Tawney in the street, he tied him up, as he thought, safely in a
shed belonging to the station. He was also taking with him some luggage
belonging to us, among which was a large round packing-case, that
usually stood in Mamma's room; these were shut up in a store-house at
the other end of the station.

At the appointed hour our friend returned to the station, and went to
claim the dog; but no Tawney was in the shed, only the end of the
broken rope which had fastened him. In great anxiety he ran about
enquiring of all he met. No one knew anything of the dog, no one had
seen him pass out of the station; and after fruitless search in all the
waiting and refreshment rooms, and in short through the whole station;
he was reluctantly obliged to go for the luggage in order to pursue his
journey, when, on opening the door of the store-house, what was his joy
on beholding the missing Tawney, seated on the top of the round packing
case, that he well knew to belong to his mistress. How he found out
that the luggage was in the store-house, and how he got in, we could
not of course discover; and it only confirmed us in our opinion of
Tawney's intense wisdom. We and Tawney enjoyed ourselves much for some
weeks, taking long walks, long drives, and hunting rats in all the
neighbours' stacks. We had some fine games in our own field, and a
great deal of basking in the sun, as it was a beautiful summer, with
constant sunshine.

I mentioned, that Tawney used to enrage the people in the cottages by
trying to worry their cats. On one of these occasions, when he had made
a dreadful confusion at the door of a cottage containing children,
upsetting a tub of soap-suds, dirtying the clean sanded floor, and
frightening an old woman nearly out of her wits, by his reckless
endeavour to seize on the cat; a man had come angrily out of the
cottage, and coming close up to the carriage, declared with a clenched
fist, and a furious countenance, that if Tawney ever approached his
door again, he would kill him. Papa, who happened to be with us, said
that if he would give Tawney a good beating, it would punish the dog
without punishing us; and as he was a great favourite, he begged that
he would not think of killing him. Then we drove on, leaving the man
standing sulkily in the road.

Whether Tawney had gone alone to this cottage for the purpose of
worrying the cat, or whether the man had taken his revenge for the
first offence, or whether he had done any thing in the matter, we shall
never know; but we could not help suspecting him when the following sad
affair happened.

It was a very sultry day, too much so to run or to do anything but lie
on the grass, which we did during the whole morning. Papa sat reading
on a bench placed in the shady side of the house, and we were on the
grass beside him; Tawney lay roasting in the sun, and, now and then,
panting with heat, came to us in the shade, or even went into the
dining-room window and flung himself down under the table; some steps
led into the garden from the window, and as the window-sill was not
level with the dining-room floor, but raised about two feet above it,
we had a stool or sort of step inside the window, as well as outside;
Tawney generally sprang through, without troubling himself about the
steps.

Soon after Tawney had entered the house, apparently for the purpose of
cooling himself, we heard a tumble, then another, and I got up to see
what he was doing. "Why Papa," I cried, "what can be the matter with
Tawney, he is trying to jump out of the window and cannot reach the
sill, and falls back again." Papa came to see, and again the dog made
an ineffectual spring at the low window-sill. Papa lifted him out into
the garden, saying he supposed he had half blinded himself with lying
so long in the hot sunshine. But we continued to watch him, and
presently we saw his limbs twitching in a sort of fit, and he ran
wildly about us. Papa called to the gardener, and they took him into
the stable, forbidding us to approach him, as they feared he was going
mad; they dashed water over him as he lay exhausted on the straw in the
stable; but soon the fits became more and more violent, and our poor
dog in a few hours was dead.

A man that examined him by Papa's desire, said there was no doubt that
he had been poisoned by strychnine. He might have picked up something
so poisoned while running in the roads, or it might have been purposely
done by the angry man to whom I alluded. We never found out the manner
in which it had been administered, and could only regret most heartily
the loss of our dear playfellow. We had not another dog for a very long
time, and never shall love one so well as Tawney.




PUFFER, THE PIGEON.


What pretty things are pigeons, how happy and nice they look sitting on
the house-top, and walking up and down the sloping roof with their
pretty pink feet and slender legs; and then how they flutter up into
the air, making circles round the house, and now and then darting off
on a straight flight across the fields. Soon after we came to live at
our country house, my sister had a present of a pair of fantail
pigeons, quite white. They were beauties, not the slightest speck of
any colour was on their feathers; and when they walked about with their
tails spread out in a fan, and their necks pulled up so proudly, we
thought them the prettiest creatures we had ever seen. Our Papa allowed
us to have a nice place made for them in the roof of the stables, with
some holes for them to go in at, and a board before the holes for them
to alight on; inside there were some niches for nests, and as the
fantails were quite young, we soon ventured to put them in there. At
first we spread a net over their holes, so that they could only walk
about on the board outside; and when we thought they knew the look of
the place well, we let them have their entire liberty, and they never
left us.

Next we obtained a pair of tumblers, these were small dumpy little
birds, of a burnished sort of copper colour, and such queer short
little bills; when they were flying, they turned head over heels in the
air, without in the least interrupting their flight. Then we had some
capuchins, they were very curious-looking creatures, white and pale
reddish brown, with a sort of a frill sticking up round their necks,
and the back of their heads. We called them our Queen Elizabeths, for
their ruffs were much more like her's than like a monk's hood, from
which resemblance they are named. Besides these, we had several common
pigeons, some pretty bluish and white. We fed them regularly in the
yard, and when they saw us run out of the house, with our wooden bowl
full of grain, they came fluttering down and took it out of our hands,
and strutted about close to us so tamely and nicely; and then they
would whirl up again in the air.

We lived quite close to a railway station, and at one time of the
autumn, a great number of sacks of grain were brought there for
carriage to distant parts of the country; for the corn fields were very
numerous about us. In the process of unloading these sacks from the
carts, and again packing them on the railway trucks, a quantity of corn
was spilt about, and our pigeons were not slow to find this out; we
noticed they were constantly flying over into the station-yards; and
sometimes when we went to feed them in the morning, they did not come
for our breakfast at all, having already made a great meal at the
station. There was an old pigeon-house in the roof of the luggage
store, which formed part of the station buildings; and our ungrateful
pigeons actually went and built some of their nests in this pigeon
house in preference to our own. At least, they laid their eggs there;
as for building a nest they never did, they trod an untidy sort of
hollow in the straw and wool we placed for them, and there laid their
eggs.

We often wondered why it was they did not build beautiful compact and
smooth nests like the little hedge birds. That was the only thing about
the pigeons that we did not like--their dirty untidy nests, and the
frightful ugliness of the newly-hatched pigeons. The first nest they
had, was made by the white fantails, and we had anxiously watched for
the hatching, expecting that we should have two beautiful little soft
white downy pigeons, something like young chickens, or, still better,
young goslings. And how disappointed we were when we saw the little
frights, with their bare great heads and lumps of eyes, and their ugly
red-skinned bodies, stuck full of bluish quills. After that we did not
much trouble ourselves about the young pigeons, until they came out
with some feathers, and tried to fly; but for all that, it was very
provoking to see them go off to another house.

Our favourite of all, was a large handsome pouter or cropper. He was of
a kind of dove colour, mixed with green and bluish feathers, and when
he stood upright, and swelled out his breast, he was quite beautiful.
He became tamer than any one of the pigeons; he would come to the
window when we were breakfasting, and take crumbs of bread from our
fingers, he would perch on our shoulders when we called to him in the
yard, and liked to strut about at the back door, and to come into the
kitchen and to peck about beneath the table; we called him Puffer. But
he too was very fond of going to the station, and sitting on the
store-house roof; and at last, really half our pigeons had their nests
in the station house instead of in ours. We went and fetched them out,
nests and eggs altogether, several times; and then we persuaded the
station men to block up the door of the old pigeon-house, which
prevented them from laying their eggs there, but they still greedily
preferred that yard to our own. Then came the harvest time. There were
many fields of corn within sight of our house, and we perceived that
our naughty pigeons took to flying out to these fields, instead of
going so much to the station. How beautiful they looked with Puffer at
their head, darting along in the sunshine, till they were almost out of
sight; and in about an hour they would come back again, spreading
themselves all over the house-top, and lying down to bask in the sun,
and to rest after their long flight, and the good meal they had made in
the corn-fields. Puffer would always come down to us, however tired,
and let us stroke him and kiss his glossy head and neck.

One day after they had all flown far out all over the fields, we heard
a shot at a distance; we were not noticing it much, beyond saying to
each other, "There is some one shooting;" but the gardener who was with
us observed, "I wish it may not be some one firing at your pigeons. The
farmers can't bear their coming after the grain; I am sorry they have
taken to flying away to them corn-fields." This alarmed us, and we
watched eagerly for the return of the pigeons. "Here they come," I
exclaimed, and presently they were all settling as usual about the
house top, Puffer in the midst quite safe. "Count them, Sir," said the
gardener. So we set to work to number the fantails, tumblers, Queen
Elizabeths, and dear old Puffer; all right, but surely there were not
so many of the common pigeons; no, two were missing! "They've been shot
then, sure as fate," said the gardener, "we shall lose them all I
fear." Next morning we gave them a double breakfast, hoping that not
feeling hungry, they would not again go to the fields; but off they
went as usual about mid-day, and very anxiously we watched for their
returning flight; we could always see Puffer a long way off, he was so
much larger than the others, and we longed for the time when all the
corn would be reaped and carried away, out of the reach of our
favourites.

One by one our pigeons diminished; we begged the gardener to speak to
the farmers about, and ask them not to shoot our pigeons; but he said
that it must be very annoying to the farmers to see a tribe of birds
devouring the produce of their hard labour and anxiety; and that he did
not wonder at their endeavouring to destroy the thieves. He said that
if he spoke about it, the farmer would say, "Shut up your birds, and if
they don't meddle with us, we shan't meddle with them." Then we
consulted whether we could cage our pigeons; but they had always had
their liberty, and we were sure that they would not thrive if shut up.
So we must take our chance, and the naughty things persisted in flying
over the fields to the distant corn. One day, no Puffer returned to us;
and in despair we gave away all our remaining pigeons.




DR. BATTIUS--THE BAT.


I now come to rather a singular pet. Every one--or rather every
child--has a dog, or a cat, or rabbits, or thrushes; little birds in
cages are dreadfully common, and so are parrots; so are jackdaws; and,
as for ponies and donkeys, what country-house is without them.

But I think that many people have not had a tame bat. It is not
generally a tempting-looking creature; and I should never have thought
of taking any trouble to procure one with the intention of petting it.

Our bat put itself into my possession by coming or falling down the
chimney of my bed-room.

The room was dark; and I heard a scratching and fluttering in the
chimney for some time. Then I heard the flapping of wings about the
room; and thought that a robin or a martin had perhaps fallen into the
chimney and had been unable to make its way again to the top.

I got up, and was seeking a match to light my candle, when the little
creature came against me, and I caught it with both hands spread over
it.

I felt directly that it was not a bird; there is something so
peculiarly soft and strange in the feel of a bat; and I was nearly
throwing it down with a sort of disgust.

Second thoughts, which are generally best, came in time to prevent my
hurting the poor little creature; and I lighted the candle, and took a
good look at my prize.

It was about the size of a small mouse; it kept its wings closely
folded, and I placed it in a drawer, and shut it up till morning, when
I and my sister had a long inspection of my prize.

I do not know of what variety it was; for there are, I believe, a great
many different kinds. He had not long ears; his eyes were very small
indeed, though bright.

We had never handled a bat before, and were not soon weary of examining
his curious blackish wings; the little hooks, where his fore-feet,
apparently, should have been; his strangely-deformed hind feet; and his
mouse-like body and fur.

We wrapped him up and shut him in a basket, and during the day, I
caught a handful of flies, of all sizes, and put them into the basket.

When it grew dusk, we opened the basket, and he soon came out and
fluttered about the room for a time; we found that he had eaten all the
flies, but not the wings of the larger ones.

When he had been at liberty for some time, we easily caught him again,
and shut him up; and when he became a little more used to me, I left
him out all night, being careful to close the opening into the chimney;
and he used to have the range of mine and the adjoining room during the
night.

We tried him with a variety of food. I had fancied that bats ate leaves
and fruit; but he never touched anything of that kind. He would eat
meat, preferring raw to cooked; and would drink milk, sucking it up,
more than lapping.

He evidently did not like the light; but sometimes would make flights
about the room when candles were burning; and, occasionally, I took him
about in my jacket pocket in the day-time. If I took him out to show
him to any one in the broad day-light, he never unfolded his wings to
fly, but remained quietly in my hand with his wings folded.

We had been reading a book in which one of the characters, a strange
old man, was named Dr. Battius; so we called our bat after him; and I
do think the little creature learnt to know me. He never fluttered or
tried to get away from me; and would always let me take hold of him
without manifesting any fear.

He went several long journeys in my pocket; once I had him with me in a
lodging by the sea-side, and amused myself much with him. He would sit
on the table in the evening, lap his milk at my supper-time, and would
vary his exercise by crawling or progressing along the floor, darting
about the room, or hanging himself up to something by his hooks, and
letting his body swing about.

He cleaned himself carefully, used to rub his nose against the soft
part of his wing, or rather his black skin, for it was not much like a
wing, and would scratch and clean his body with his hind feet.

People used to say, "How can you keep such a repulsive sort of animal?"

But, in fact he was not a dirty creature; he spent as much time rubbing
and scraping himself, as any cat would do; and he ate nothing dirty,
raw beef and flies being his chief food, with a very little milk.

We had heard and read that bats have some extraordinary way of seeing
in the total darkness, or else that their touch is so delicate, that
they can feel when approaching any wall or hard thing; and it was so
with Dr. Battius, excepting on one occasion--the night when I first
caught him; then he struck against my chest; so that I secured him
easily, by clasping both hands over him.

But I never after saw him strike against anything; he used to fly about
my room at night, and I never heard the least tap against any object;
he even would come inside my bed curtains, and fly to and fro; but I
could not detect the slightest sound of touching them.

The black skin that formed his wings was so wonderfully soft to the
touch, that perhaps he felt with that, when the wings were spread out.

I cannot imagine that his crushed-up little eyes could see in the dark;
they appeared scarcely good enough to see at all in any light.

This poor little creature lived in my care for many months.

I went to visit some friends who were not fond of any animal in the
house; and I knew that this dusky little creature would inspire
disgust, if not terror, among some of the party. So, unwillingly, I
left him at home.

But my sister being away too, the servant, perhaps gave him too much
food, or he missed his exercise about the room. One morning he was
found dead in his drawer.

I have no idea whether bats are long-lived animals; or whether they
would, for any time, flourish in solitude. Had I kept the poor little
doctor with me, I might have found out more about him.




THE CHOUGH.


I think I may here describe a bird, which, although he was not our
property, was watched with much interest by us, and which we never met
with but once.

It was a Chough.

It belonged to an officer who was living in the same barracks; and we
first saw it perched on the window-sill of his kitchen.

"Is that a crow?" asked my sister, pointing to it, as we stopped to
examine it.

"That cannot be a crow," I answered; "its legs are yellow, as well as
its beak; and it is more slender, and a more bluish sort of black."

When we approached and offered to touch it; it did not draw back or
appear shy, but allowed us to stroke its back and look at it quite
closely.

It was a very handsome bird; its plumage beautifully glossy; its claws
hooked and black; and its tongue very long. It was pecking at a plate
of food that was near it; but did not appear very hungry.

Presently, the officer's servant came to the window, and we enquired
what it was.

"A Cornish Chough," was the answer.

We had never seen one before; indeed, knew nothing about that sort of
bird. We had, indeed, heard its name in an old song or glee, called the
"Chough and Crow;" or that begins with those words.

So we asked Mamma about it when we went in, and she showed us an
account of it, in which we found that it is not at all common
everywhere, like a crow; but that it only lives in the cliffs of
Cornwall, Devonshire, and Wales; and has sometimes, but rarely, been
seen about Beachy Head, and in no other part of Europe, excepting the
Alps. So that it is really a very uncommon bird.

The same account said that they could be taught to speak like a
jackdaw.

But we never heard this one say anything, or make any noise, except a
sort of call or croak, with which he answered the servant who attended
to him.

We always stopped to stroke and pat him when we went out to walk; and
he was a great pet with the soldiers, and went about some years with
the regiment.

He showed his intelligence and quickness in a very curious way.

During the time that the regiment was quartered in Scotland he was
lost; he had either wandered out of the barrack-gate, and had failed to
find his way back again; or he had been picked up and carried away by
some thief. He was, however, never seen or heard of for many months,
and was given up as lost.

The regiment then removed to Edinburgh; and two or three soldiers went
to visit a sort of zoological garden in the outskirts. There were a
great number of cages, among other things; and the attention of the men
was attracted to one of these cages by the violent fluttering and
exertion made by the inhabitant to get out.

On coming closer to the cage, they perceived that the prisoner was the
old Cornish Chough; and they asked the keeper if it was lately that
they had confined it, since it seemed so uneasy.

The man said that it had been in that cage for a long time, and never
had been otherwise than perfectly quiet and satisfied.

They wished to take it away, saying they knew the bird's former master;
but the owner refused to part with it, and the soldiers passed on.

On their way back, the keeper was still standing watching the bird;
who, as soon as the soldiers came again in sight, fluttered and dashed
itself violently against the bars.

The man said that losing sight of them, it became quiet, and sat
dolefully on its perch; but the moment it again saw them, it exerted
all its strength to reach them.

There is no doubt that the poor bird recognised the red-coats, among
which it had formerly lived, and wished to go to his old friends.

The soldiers told the officer how they had discovered his old pet; and
he purchased it from the keeper of the garden.

The poor Chough manifested great pleasure at being again in the barrack
kitchen, and followed the fortunes of the regiment until his master's
death, when we lost sight of the yellow-billed yellow-legged Cornish
Chough.




THE KITTENS--BLACKY AND SNOWDROP.


"Guess what we have, Mamma! Guess!" cried I and my sister, as we ran
into the dining-room, with something wrapped up in each of our
pinafores. So Mamma felt, and found that we had something alive; then
she guessed guinea-pigs, then rabbits; at last we rolled out on the
carpet two little kittens.

They were such soft, pretty little things; one was black and the other
white. I chose the black one, and my sister had the white. They lived
chiefly in the nursery, and were soon very familiar, and quite at home.

My black one, however, was pleased to be much fonder of my sister than
of me; it particularly insisted on sleeping on my sister's bed; and we
sometimes changed beds to see if it would follow her. Blacky would jump
on the bed, come and look at my face, waving his tail about in the air,
and seeing that it was his own master, he would bound off the bed and
go and look in the other, and being satisfied that my sister was there,
he would curl himself up at her back. In consequence of some illness in
the nursery, my sister was sent to another room, and Blacky not finding
her in the nursery, went and looked into all the bed-rooms until he
found her. Snowdrop, as we called the white cat, used to sleep in a
large wardrobe, rolled up upon some of the clothes. They were both very
fond of getting into cupboards and drawers, and often startled us, and
others, by springing out, when drawers and closet-doors were opened in
different rooms; we were obliged to forbid them the drawing-room,
because they would get on the chimney-piece, and on the top of a
book-case where there was a good deal of china, and we thought they
would certainly throw down and break it all in their rough games.

At the time we had these cats, we had also the jackdaw and hawk; and
Blacky and Snowdrop often went to have a game with Jacky, who liked
them; they used to run after him round his bush, and amuse themselves
with whisking their tails about, and seeing him peck at them. But when
they tried the same game with the hawk, they found a very different
creature to deal with; for the savage bird darted at the playful little
creatures, and very nearly bit off Blacky's tail; and afterwards, if he
saw them in the garden, although they did not offer to approach his
stump, he would slyly steal among the shrubs and bushes, till he got
near enough to them to make a dart at their tails, and many a savage
bite he gave them.

We did not keep these cats long. Blacky disappeared entirely; whether
some one stole him for the luck of having a black cat, or what became
of the poor little fellow we did not know. Snowdrop was fond of running
on the top of the garden-walls, and of hunting little birds about the
roads; and it seems strange that so active an animal as a cat should
allow itself to be run over, but Snowdrop, in hunting a bird across the
railway, which ran on the other side of our garden wall, was actually
killed by the train.




BLUEBEARD, THE SHETLAND PONY.


Our donkey, Neddy, was never replaced; but instead of him we had a far
better pet, a beautiful little Shetland pony! We had left Ireland, and
went to live in England; we had a nice garden, a paddock and some
fields, and a stable; and when we saw all this, we ran to Papa and
begged that we might now have another donkey, as there was plenty of
room for him. But Papa said we might now very well ride a pony, and
that he would look out for a nice one. Shortly after this he went to a
large horse-fair at Doncaster, and almost before he could have arrived
there, we began to look out and watch for his return with the pony.

We made all kinds of guesses about the size and the colour that the
pony would be, and wrote out a long list of names suitable for a
Shetland. I wished that it might be black, and my sister wished for a
cream colour; but I believe that no such thing exists as a
cream-coloured Shetland. And after all our expectation, Papa came home
so late, that we did not see him that night.

We besieged his door next morning, shouting, "Did you find a pony? Have
you bought the pony?" Yes, a pony had come, but we were not to look at
him until Papa came down; and after breakfast, Papa sent for it to the
dining-room window. Oh! what a nice little roly-poly of rough hair it
was. It was very small, and its funny little face peeped out from the
shaggy bunch of hair over its eyes, in such a sly way. Its mane was a
complete bush, and its tail just swept along the ground. And all over
its body the coat was so thick and soft, and so long, that the legs
looked quite short and dumpy. Altogether, it was the most darling
little fellow any one could imagine; its colour was dark-brown, and its
mane and tail nearly black.

Papa promised to get a nice saddle and bridle for it, as we declared
that Neddy's old pad was so shabby, that it would be a shame to put it
on this little beauty. But, meantime, we were well satisfied to use it,
and commenced our rides forthwith; scarcely a day passed without our
making a long excursion. Sometimes Mamma walked with us, and sometimes
only nurse; we used to trot along the road for some distance, and then
canter back again to Mamma, so that we had a long ride, whilst she only
took a moderate walk; and we soon had explored every lane and bye-road
near our new home.

After much debate about the pony's name, we had fixed on two or three,
and finding that we could not agree on the important subject, we wrote
out the names on slips of paper, and drew lots. "Bluebeard" was the
name that we drew the oftenest, so that was decided; and as he really
had a very long beard, we thought it very appropriate.

Although Bluebeard was a decided beauty, it must be confessed that he
had a great number of tricks, and was not the best-behaved pony in the
world. When we were out riding, if we met any carts on the road, or in
passing through the streets, Mamma or nurse used to lead him by the
bridle; this _we_ used to consider a great affront to our horsemanship,
and Bluebeard, doubtless, thought it an affront to himself, for he
could not bear to be led; he shook his head, and tried to get the
bridle out of their hand, and failing to do so, he revenged himself by
biting and tearing Mamma's shawl or dress; and our poor nurse had
scarcely a gown left that was not in rents and holes from Bluebeard's
teeth; she said it took her half her time to mend her clothes, for she
never went out with us and returned with her clothes whole. This amused
us very much; but Mamma thought she should have liked Bluebeard better
if he had been less playful.

With good living, and the care that was lavished on him in our stable,
he soon became fatter, and very frisky, so full of wild spirits and
play, that we could not quite manage him. So Mamma had a very small
basket-work carriage made, just to fit Bluebeard; it was painted
dark-blue, and was very pretty; it had two seats, so just carried us,
and Mamma and nurse.

Now we drove out one day, and rode the next; the carriage was so low,
that we could jump in and out as Bluebeard trotted along; and we liked
to run, holding on by the back, to see whether we could run as fast as
Bluebeard at his fastest trot; and when we jumped out, he used to turn
his head round and look for us, and sometimes made a full stop till we
got in again. Mamma thought that the heavier work of drawing the
carriage with four people in it, would prevent Bluebeard from becoming
too frisky and unmanageable, as, certainly, it was far greater labour
for him than a quiet trot with only myself or sister on his back; but I
believe that the more work he had, the more corn he ate, for he
scampered along with the carriage as if it were nothing at all, and
grew more and more skittish. It was very amusing to watch for donkeys
as we drove along the roads, for he could not bear to meet one; if he
spied the long ears at a little distance, he used to fling up his head,
stand still for an instant, and then turn sharply round, and rush away
in the opposite direction to the offending object; this he did whether
we were riding or in the carriage. It signified but little when we
rode; for all that happened was our tumbling off, when he twitched
himself round; and as he met Mamma and nurse a little way back on the
road, he was always stopped.

But in the carriage it was a very awkward trick, and we should often
have been upset, had not the front wheels turned completely under the
body of the carriage, so Bluebeard could twist round, and put his head
quite inside without upsetting us.

Once or twice, when going up a hill, a donkey suddenly put up his head
from behind the hedge. Round flew Bluebeard with such a jerk, as nearly
to throw us out of the carriage, and having whisked us round, he tore
down the hill at a furious rate. All that could be done on such
occasions, was for one of us to jump out and hold his head before he
had time to turn round; and, therefore, we always kept a sharp look out
for donkeys on the road. This dread of Bluebeard's was the more
strange, as he was extremely friendly with a poor half-starved donkey
that was sometimes put into the same field with him. He used to rub his
head against it, talk to it, (that is, hold their noses near together),
and seemed quite to like its company. But any other donkey inspired him
with downright terror. Another bad trick when in the carriage, was
kicking, which he often did, sometimes throwing his heels so high that
he got them over the shaft, and then we had the fun of unharnessing him
completely, in order to put him in again.

It sometimes took a very long time to catch him, though the field was
very small; he would come close to the groom, and when he put out his
hand to catch him, he would give his head a toss and gallop off round
the field; now and then, when weary of his fruitless attempts at
catching him, the groom would set the field-gate wide open, and
Bluebeard would dart through it, along the lane, and up the hill to our
house. But it was rather a risk doing so, as it was quite a chance
whether he would go home, or in any other direction.

When he was fairly in the stable, and cleaning and harnessing had
commenced, he by no means ceased from his playful tricks: he would roll
in the straw with his legs kicking up; then he would bounce about in
all directions, to prevent the bridle from being put on; and shake his
head till all his shaggy mane fell over his eyes.

All this was meant for play and fun; but the groom often was
reprimanded for unpunctuality, in not bringing the carriage to the door
for half-an-hour or more after the time when it was ordered. Certainly,
if Bluebeard would not be caught, and then would not be harnessed, it
was not the groom's fault. However, he began to be very sharp and cross
with the pony; and once pulling him roughly up from sprawling on his
back, instead of standing still to be combed, Bluebeard dashed his head
at him and gave him a bad bite on the chest.

When Mamma came out to put a plaister on the bite, she was very angry,
and said that if Bluebeard bit in his play, she could not allow us to
keep him; and she desired that he should not have half so much corn.

But I do believe the groom paid no attention to this order, and gave
him just as much as before; for the wicked little pony never became one
bit quieter, and we often had to beg hard that sentence of dismissal
should not be pronounced.

Whenever Papa had time to take us riding with him, or could spare his
horse for the groom, we had a nice ride, Bluebeard having a long rein
which Papa or the groom held, we found that he went a great deal better
than when Mamma walked with us; indeed, he had then no time to play
tricks, for it was as much as he could do to keep up with the great
horse, whose walk matched with our gentle trotting; his trot to our
cantering; and when the horse cantered, Bluebeard was put to his full
speed.

We enjoyed these rides immensely; but, unluckily, they were few and far
between, as the horse could be spared very seldom; therefore, we still
continued our plan of Mamma walking, and we riding by turns; and it was
a great excitement to us, watching for Bluebeard's tricks, for we were
much afraid of his being sent away as too tiresome; and we tried in all
ways to prevent and to conceal his delinquencies.

I very frequently went over his head, for he liked to go precisely the
way he chose; and if we came to a turning in the road, and I pulled the
bridle in one direction, Bluebeard was certain to insist on going the
other. Then he tugged, and I tugged; but his neck was so strong, and
his mouth so hard, that I seldom could succeed in making him go my way;
and unless some one came to my assistance, the dispute generally ended
by Bluebeard putting his head between his legs, and pitching me over
his head.

My sister suggested that the best way to manage him would be always to
urge him to go the way we did not wish, and he, being certain to differ
from us, would take, as his own choice, the road that we really
intended.

This was the same plan as that suggested for refractory pigs, who will
never go forwards; viz., to pull them backwards, when they will at once
make a bolt in the desired direction.

But I objected, that it was a shabby way of proceeding to manage him by
deceit, and I preferred being flung over his head in open contest; and
the plan was given up as too cowardly; and as my rolls were generally
in the soft sandy lanes or on the grass by the road side, I never was
in the least hurt.

My sister, too, had several tumbles which made us laugh very much.

We came once to a place where three lanes met, and Mamma called out to
my sister, who was riding some way in front, to turn to the right; so
she pulled the rein, and, as a matter of course, Bluebeard shook his
mane, tossed his head about, and intimated that he intended to turn
down the opposite lane to the left. Then my sister pulled and pulled,
whipping Bluebeard at the same time; but his coat was so immensely
thick, that he really did not feel a switch the least in the world,
especially from a little arm like my sister's. So he did not stir, but
kept twisting his head along the left-hand lane.

"He will kick in a minute," I said; and Mamma ran quickly to take hold
of his bridle.

When naughty little Bluebeard felt her touch the rein, he made a bolt
down the lane so suddenly, that he dragged Mamma down on the ground,
and flinging up his heels at the same time, sent my sister flying, and
she came down upon Mamma; so there they were rolling over each other in
the dusty lane.

Bluebeard scampered a short way down the lane and then came back to us,
whisking his tail, as if to say, "You might as well have come my way at
once, without causing all this fuss."

And whilst we were employed in shaking the dust off Mamma's and
sister's clothes, he stood looking at us in a triumphant kind of
manner.

But after all, he did not have his own way; for when my sister was
mounted again, Mamma took the bridle and led him down the lane to the
right and all the way home; and he was not in favour with Mamma for
some time after.

When the winter came on, his coat grew so thick and heavy, and his mane
and tail so bushy and long, that he really looked like a great bundle
of hair rolling along the road; for his legs scarcely showed as high as
his knee. As for his eyes, it was a mystery how he saw at all; for they
were not visible, except when we pulled back the hair to look at them:
there never was such a curious rolypoly-looking little creature.

When the cold of the winter was passing away, it was agreed that
Bluebeard had better be clipped, his coat being really much too heavy;
no sheep's fleece could have weighed more.

So we had the pleasure of seeing the little fellow carefully shorn of
his thick dress; his long bushy tail was left at our particular
request, and also plenty of mane; we liked that, because we found it a
great help to clutch a handful of mane, when he tried to kick us off;
but his eyes were left free to look out, and very saucy they looked.

We were astonished to find how small he looked, and how thin and
elegant his stumpy little legs appeared, we thought they scarcely
seemed strong enough to bear our weight; and in the carriage he would
appear a perfect shrimp.

Then his colour was entirely altered. Instead of dark brown, he was now
a pale sort of grey; indeed, we could scarcely believe that the same
pony was before us.

He did not look so droll and round, but much prettier; and we felt
quite proud of him the next time we rode out with Papa.

When he was next put into the pony-carriage, he almost appeared too
small for it; and one bad effect of clipping him was, that he evidently
felt so light and unshackled, that he could not restrain his wish to
prance and jump; he now perpetually was kicking his legs over the
shafts; and so, two or three times during a drive, we unharnessed him
before we could replace him where he ought to be--between the shafts;
instead of having his fore legs inside, and his hind legs outside.

Mamma said that this was dangerous, and that she feared Bluebeard might
either break his own legs by this trick, or would upset the carriage
and break ours. And we began to fear that Bluebeard would some day
bring on his own dismissal.

One day, Mamma rode Bluebeard herself; and in spite of the greater
weight, which he must have found very different from that of such small
children as my sister and myself, Bluebeard kicked so much, and behaved
altogether in such an improper manner, that Mamma declared he was no
longer a safe pony for such young children, and said she should expect
to see us brought home with fractured skulls or broken limbs, if we
were allowed to ride him.

All our beggings and prayings had no effect. Bluebeard was sold to a
man in the neighbouring town.

When this man said that he wanted the pony for a little boy to ride,
Mamma said that he was too ill-broken and too unmanageable for any
child, and that she did not wish to sell him for that purpose.

But he said that he intended to tie the boy tightly on to the saddle,
and should make a groom walk with him with a long rein; and then should
have no fear about the boy's safety. And he bought him, notwithstanding
Mamma's warning.

We were so sorry to see the poor little fellow led away; our only
consolation was, that in a year or two we should become too big for
Bluebeard; and then, at any rate, we must have parted with him.

Now and then we saw the little boy riding him; and the groom that was
with him showed us that he was strapped on to the saddle by a strap
across each thigh, and also a strap below each knee; so that it was
really impossible that he should fall off.

Mamma said it was not at all safe for a child to be fastened in that
way; for if Bluebeard should take into his head to roll on his back, he
would most probably kill the child. But as she had warned the father,
and had told him of all the pony's bad tricks, it was no longer her
affair to say anything about him, or to meddle with his arrangements.

It was a long time before Papa met with a pony to suit us better. The
next one was to be so large, that he would last us for many years; he
must be frisky enough to be pleasant and amusing, and yet must have no
bad tricks; no kicking and running away; and, above all, he must be
very pretty indeed, with long tail and mane.

All these qualities were not so easy to find combined; and before I
talk about the next pony, I will mention some of our other pets.

So good bye to dear little naughty Bluebeard.




JOE, THE GERMAN DOG.


Being for some months in a German town, we proposed, before returning
to England, that we should procure one of the strange-looking little
German terriers, with long backs and short legs; and we made inquiries
as to where we could obtain one of the real German breed. We found that
there are several different races of these dogs; they have all the long
back, and short bandy legs; but one kind is very large, with pointed
nose and long tail; another kind is small, with excessively soft hair,
small head and magnificent large eyes; another kind is small, rather
wiry in the hair, and unusually long and pointed in the nose.

After seeing several, we at last had one offered to us that we liked,
and bought; he was of the last-described species; his body long and
narrow, his legs very short and crooked, and his feet enormous, big
enough for a dog of three times the size; his tail was long, and
dangled down in an ungainly sort of way; his head was small, and his
nose much elongated and pointed; his eyes small and sparkling, and his
ears rather soft and long. Altogether, he was the queerest-looking
little animal you would wish to see. We named him Joe, and commenced
his education by showing him, that he was not to consider our baby
sister a species of rat, and to worry her accordingly, and by teaching
him to sleep on a rug in the corner of one of the bed-rooms. He was a
very sociable merry little fellow, liked scampering after us through
the range of rooms, all on one floor or flat, and enjoyed running along
the roads and in the park with us; but he was terribly chilly; he could
not bear sleeping on his mat, always wanting to be on the bed, or at
least muffled up in a flannel gown; and in the day, he was happiest
when he was allowed to creep under the stove and lie there, really
almost undergoing baking. I never saw an animal bear so much heat with
satisfaction to himself.

He destroyed half the things in the house before he got over his
puppy-days; but every one liked him, and he generally escaped
punishment. He was sharp enough to know his way home, in a very few
days after we bought him. We had him out in the park and missed him, a
long way from home; seeing no sign of him, we concluded that some one
had picked him up, and gave him up for lost, having no idea that the
little young creature would know its way home; and we were quite
surprised when we reached our own door, to find Joe sitting there
waiting; he had come along the crooked walks of the park, through the
streets, and up our long flight of stairs, and our opinion of his
sagacity rose in proportion.

Shortly after we had bought Joe, we travelled to England, and
determined to try whether we could manage to take him in the carriage
with us, instead of letting the poor little fellow be shut up in a
dog-box on the train, with, perhaps, a dozen other savage dogs. So
Papa carried him under his cloak; Joe was very good at the station,
and kept himself perfectly quiet, until we were all seated in the
railway-carriage. We were beginning to think that we had him safe for
that day's journey; and as soon as we had shewn our tickets, could let
him run about the carriage.

The ticket-taker came to the door, had looked all round, and Papa was
showing his ticket, when, at the last minute, Joe began to plunge and
push about under the cloak. Papa held him fast, but the stupid little
animal set up a yelp, just as the man was leaving the carriage. He
immediately asked if we had a dog, and poor Joe was hauled out by his
neck, and Papa had to run in great haste to see him placed in a
dog-box. And for the next three or four hours, Joe howled incessantly.

When we halted in the middle of the day, we managed better; Mamma took
him under her shawl, and got into the carriage some time before the
officials came peeping about, and he lay quiet in her lap, and no one
meddled with him; so the afternoon of his first day of travel was not
so miserable as the commencement. Altogether, Joe was a good deal of
trouble on the journey; there was always a fuss about gaining
permission to have him in the carriage, and we did not know what to do
with him at the inns, for fear he should go down stairs and be lost. At
last we reached England, and for a time lived in London.

At first we were much afraid that Joe would be darting out of the front
door, and would be stolen immediately. But he soon got used to the
confinement, only having a yard behind the house to run in, and he made
himself extremely happy. The house in which we were staying possessed
two dogs, a cat, a variety of birds, and in the yard lived a cock with
several hens.

Joe and the cat used to have famous games together, rolling each other
over and over, then racing round the kitchen, over the tables and
chairs. When pussy was tired, she sat upon a chair and slapped Joe's
face, whenever she could reach him, as he ran barking round the chair.
One of the dogs was very old and fat, and did not at all approve of the
new comer's vivacious ways, but growled at Joe fiercely when he tried
to entice him to play. The other dog was also too fat to be very
active; and when Joe found that no fun was to be had with them, he
merely danced round them now and then, to have the pleasure of making
them angry, and seeing them show their teeth; and then he left them to
their slumbers, and scampered off to the cat, who was more suited to
his age and manners.

Out in the yard he had much amusement with the fowls; at first sight he
had been rather frightened at them, but soon took pleasure in seeing
them flutter about and run away from him. The cock, however, did not
run away, but faced Master Joe, and crowed at him, and ran at him in
the most valiant manner; and when Joe was too pertinacious in barking
at him and teazing him, the cock actually sprang upon his back and
pecked him, until Joe crouched down on the ground fairly beaten. In
return, however, Joe nearly caused a death-warrant to be pronounced
against the cock and all the hens, by teaching them to eat eggs.

One morning, the hens were observed to be in a great state of
excitement, pecking greedily at something on the ground, which, on
examination, proved to be a new-laid egg, broken and devoured by the
unnatural hens. The next day another and another was found in the same
way; in fact, as soon as the eggs were laid, they were brought out of
the hen-house and broken. So it was agreed, that the hens having once
contracted this bad habit, could never be cured, and had better all be
killed. But before this determination had been put in practice, Mamma
chanced to look out of the window early, just after Joe had been sent
out for his morning walk, and spied the naughty creature coming out of
the hen-house with an egg in his mouth. Presently all the hens and the
cock ran out after him, calling, "Stop thief!" or, rather, implying
those words by their cackling and noise; and they pursued Joe round and
round the yard, until they came up with him all in a body, and the egg
being dropped in the scuffle, was of course broken; and then the hens
fell upon it and ate it up.

This it seems took place every morning. Joe fetched eggs out of the
nests; and the hens, after pretending to be very angry, ended by
joining in the robbery.

The next time Joe was seen with an egg in his mouth, one of the
servants went out and called to him, when he placed it on the ground so
gently, that it was not even cracked; and if we could manage to catch
him before the hens rushed upon him, we always obtained the egg safe
enough; for he did not break it or eat it himself, only put it into the
hen's heads to do so; and, probably, his only object was to make the
whole family of hens run after him, which he seemed much to enjoy.

So the sentence of death against the cock and hens was not pronounced,
as it seemed the whole fault lay with Joe; and whenever we could catch
him approaching the hen-house he received a good whipping.

He had, however, that sort of temper which cares not the least for
whipping or scolding; he never was at all abashed or cowed; but made a
most dreadful yelling whilst the whipping was inflicted, and the moment
he was released he would dance about perfectly happy, and immediately
go and repeat the fault--he was quite incorrigible.

We managed to prevent, in a great measure, his stealing eggs, by not
letting him out so early; and when he went into the yard people were
going in and out, that could watch him.

So, to make amends for the loss of his morning's fun, he used to push
aside the window curtain and blind, as soon as it was light, and stand
on his hind legs at the window, watching the cock and hens; now and
then signifying his approval of their proceedings by a short bark.

He slept in an arm-chair, covered up with an old dressing gown. On one
occasion this was removed, and we thought Joe would do just as well
without it; but with his great love of warmth, he absolutely refused to
sleep without a warm covering. He was much perturbed, and ran squeaking
about the room, till after keeping us awake half the night, we were
obliged to get up, and supply him with something soft to envelope him
in the arm-chair.

When Joe was tired of playing with the cat, the dogs, and the fowls, he
used to go to the top of the house into our baby-sister's nursery. He
was very fond of her; but usually timed his visits so as to come in for
her dinner or supper, of which he always had a share.

She used to put her tin of milk on the floor and sit beside it: first
Joey took a lap or two, then baby had a sip; and so they emptied the
mug together: and at her dinner, Joe used to eat the pudding at one
side of the plate, whilst baby worked away at the other.

Then they took a roll on the floor together, and whatever rough pull or
pinch was bestowed on Joe, he never snapped or hurt the little girl;
indeed, would let her do anything she liked with him.

He was very long before he gave up his puppy fashion of tearing and
biting everything. If a book or a piece of work fell on the ground,
Joey's sharp teeth soon brought them into a deplorable condition. If he
could get hold of a bonnet, he soon dragged off ribbon, flowers, lace,
and whatever it possessed; and poor little baby's toys, balls, and
dolls were never presentable after they had been five minutes in the
house.

Then he wickedly pulled to pieces the mat at the bottom of the stairs,
for which he was well whipped; in short, the mischief he did was
terrible.

His encounters with the cock did not prove sufficient exercise for the
hardy little fellow; and he began to get so fat, that we determined to
send him into the country, to some place where he would have a great
deal of running about out of doors.

We were sorry to part with him for the time we should be in London; but
we did not wish to see him become too fat to waddle.

So Papa took him with him when he went into the country to visit some
friends. He placed him with a man who was to teach him rat-hunting; and
Joe showed that he had an excellent nose, and promised to be a
first-rate ratter.

But when Papa had returned to London, we heard that poor Joe had made
his appearance again at the house of the friend whither Papa had first
taken him. He was looking sadly thin and wretched, and ran into the
bed-room Papa had used, and searched for him in all directions.

The poor little fellow remained there until Papa made another
arrangement for him, as evidently he had been ill-used by the
rat-catcher.

He next was sent to a gamekeeper's, who lived in a nice park, where
there was a beautiful rabbit-warren, plenty of stacks for ratting, a
stream to swim in, and fields and farms to range about.

There we hoped he would be very happy; and as poor little Joe is still
alive, I have not to relate his end at present, and hope that he will
still afford us much amusement.

                     *      *      *      *      *

Now I think I have described the greater part of the animals, birds,
and creatures of all kinds that belonged to me and my sister. How much
pleasure we derived from them! And what a mixture of pity and contempt
we always felt for children who feared or disliked animals!

There was a family of little children near us once, when we had our
dear dog Tawney; how they used to scream and run whenever they saw him!
even though he was taking no notice of them in particular. Then they
would take up stones and throw them at him, really intending to hurt
him; for their intense fear of the dog rendered them quite cruel; and
when he found that they tried to hurt him, and shouted at him, he used
to bark in return, which of course terrified them more.

Then some of our friends had quite a horror of our hedgehog, and our
bat, and wondered how we could kiss Neddy's nose, and Bluebeard's. I am
sure their soft nice coats were quite as pleasant to kiss, as many
people's faces.

I only wish that all little children would love animals, and find as
much amusement as we did in the care of our Live Toys.


THE END.


WERTHEIMER AND CO., PRINTERS, CIRCUS PLACE, FINSBURY CIRCUS.




ORIGINAL JUVENILE LIBRARY.


A CATALOGUE

OF

NEW AND POPULAR WORKS.

PRINCIPALLY FOR THE YOUNG.

[Illustration: Goldsmith introduced to Newbery by Dr. Johnson.]

PUBLISHED BY

GRIFFITH AND FARRAN,

(LATE GRANT AND GRIFFITH, SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS),

CORNER OF ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD, LONDON.


WERTHEIMER AND CO., CIRCUS PLACE, FINSBURY CIRCUS.




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True Blue;

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Guy Rivers;

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THOMAS HOOD'S DAUGHTER.

Tiny Tadpole;

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CAPTAIN MARRYAT'S DAUGHTER.

Harry at School;

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BY THE AUTHOR OF "TRIUMPHS OF STEAM."

Meadow Lea;

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Live Toys;

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Distant Homes;

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Neptune's Heroes: or The Sea Kings of England;

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Lost in Ceylon;

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Ralph Seabrooke;

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THE LATE THOMAS HOOD, ETC.

Fairy Land;

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Long Evenings;

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Holidays Among the Mountains;

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E. LANDELLS.

The Illustrated Paper Model Maker;

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The Girl's Own Toy Maker,

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The White Elephant;

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Frank and Andrea;

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The Nine Lives of a Cat;

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    3_s._ 6_d._ coloured.

    "Rich in the quaint humour and fancy that a man of genius knows
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Blind Man's Holiday;

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Tuppy;

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Funny Fables for Little Folks.

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The History of a Quartern Loaf.

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    Uniform in size and price,

    The History of a Cup of Tea.
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Woman's Work;

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A Chapter of Accidents;

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Pay To-day, Trust To-morrow;

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Nursery Work;

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Family Prayers for Cottage Homes;

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The Triumphs of Steam;

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The War Tiger;

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The Boy's own Toy Maker.

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Hand Shadows,

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A Second Series of Hand Shadows;

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BY THE LATE THOMAS HOOD.

The Headlong Career and Woful Ending of Precocious Piggy.

    Written for his Children, by the late THOMAS HOOD. With a Preface
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    "The Illustrations are intensely humourous."--_The Critic._

The Harpsden Riddle Book.

    A Collection of 350 Original Charades, Conundrums, Rebuses, etc.
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The Fairy Tales of Science.

    A Book for Youth. By J. C. BROUGH. With 16 Beautiful Illustrations
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    edges.

    CONTENTS: 1. The Age of Monsters.--2. The Amber Spirit.--3. The
    Four Elements.--4. The Life of an Atom.--5. A Little Bit.--6.
    Modern Alchemy.--7. The Magic of the Sunbeam.--8. Two Eyes
    Better than One.--9. The Mermaid's Home.--10. Animated Flowers.
    --11. Metamorphoses.--12. The Invisible World.--13. Wonderful
    Plants.--14. Water Bewitched.--15. Pluto's Kingdom.--16. Moving
    Lands.--17. The Gnomes.--18. A Flight through Space.--19. The
    Tale of a Comet.--20. The Wonderful Lamp.

    "Science, perhaps, was never made more attractive and easy of
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    "Altogether the volume is one of the most original, as well as one
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Paul Blake;

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Sunday Evenings with Sophia;

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    BELL. Frontispiece by J. ABSOLON. Fcap. 8vo., price 2_s._ 6_d._
    cloth.

    "A very suitable gift for a thoughtful girl."--_Bell's Messenger._

Scenes of Animal Life and Character.

    From Nature and Recollection. In Twenty Plates. By J. B. 4to.,
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    "Truer, heartier, more playful, or more enjoyable sketches of
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Caw, Caw;

    Or, the Chronicles of the Crows. Illustrated by J. B. 4to., price
    2_s._ plain; 2_s._ 6_d._ coloured.

Three Christmas Plays for Children.

    1. The Sleeper Awakened. 2. The Wonderful Bird. 3. Crinolina. By
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    edges.


W. H. C. KINGSTON'S BOOKS FOR BOYS.

With Illustrations. Fcap. 8vo. price 5_s._ each, cloth; 5_s._ 6_d._
gilt edges.

Will Weatherhelm;

    Or, the Yarn of an Old Sailor about his Early Life and Adventures.

    "We tried the story on an audience of boys, who one and all
    declared it to be capital."--_Athenæeum._

Fred Markham in Russia;

    Or, the Boy Travellers in the Land of the Czar.

    "Most admirably does this book unite a capital narrative, with the
    communication of valuable information respecting
    Russia."--_Nonconformist._

Salt Water;

    Or Neil D'Arcy's Sea Life and Adventures. With Eight Illustrations.

    "With the exception of Capt. Marryat, we know of no English author
    who will compare with Mr. Kingston as a writer of books of nautical
    adventure."--_Illustrated News._

Manco, the Peruvian Chief;

    With Illustrations by CARL SCHMOLZE.

    "A capital book; the story being one of much interest, and
    presenting a good account of the history and institutions, the
    customs and manners, of the country."--_Literary Gazette._

Mark Seaworth;

    A Tale of the Indian Ocean. By the Author of "Peter the Whaler,"
    etc. With Illustrations by J. ABSOLON. Second Edition.

    "No more interesting, nor more safe book, can be put into the
    hands of youth; and to boys especially, 'Mark Seaworth' will be
    a treasure of delight."--_Art Journal._

Peter the Whaler;

    His early Life and Adventures in the Arctic Regions. Second
    Edition. Illustrations by E. DUNCAN.

    "A better present for a boy of an active turn of mind could
    not be found. The tone of the book is manly, healthful, and
    vigorous."--_Weekly News._

    "A book which the old may, but which the young must, read when
    they have once begun it."--_Athenæum._

Blue Jackets;

    Or, Chips of the Old Block. A Narrative of the Gallant Exploits of
    British Seamen, and of the principal Events in the Naval Service
    during the Reign of Queen Victoria, by W. H. G. KINGSTON. Post
    8vo.; price 7_s._ 6_d._ cloth.

    "A more acceptable testimonial than this to the valour and
    enterprise of the British Navy, has not issued from the press
    for many years."--_The Critic._


HISTORY OF INDIA FOR THE YOUNG.

Our Eastern Empire;

    Or, Stories from the History of British India. By the author of
    "The Martyr Land," "Might not Right," etc. Second Edition, with
    Continuation to the Proclamation of Queen Victoria. With Four
    Illustrations. Royal 16mo. cloth 3_s._ 6_d._; 4_s._ 6_d._
    coloured, gilt edges.

    "These stories are charming, and convey a general view of the
    progress of our Empire in the East. The tales are told with
    admirable clearness."--_Athenæum._

The Martyr Land;

    Or, Tales of the Vaudois. By the Author of "Our Eastern Empire,"
    etc. Frontispiece by J. GILBERT. Royal 16mo; price 3_s._ 6_d._
    cloth.

    "While practical lessons run throughout, they are never obtruded;
    the whole tone is refined without affectation, religious and
    cheerful."--_English Churchman._

Might not Right;

    Or, Stories of the Discovery and Conquest of America. By the
    author of "Our Eastern Empire," etc. Illustrated by J. Gilbert.
    Royal 16mo. price 3_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 4_s._ 6_d._ coloured, gilt
    edges.

    "With the fortunes of Columbus, Cortes, and Pizarro, for the
    staple of these stories, the writer has succeeded in producing a
    very interesting volume."--_Illustrated News._

Jack Frost and Betty Snow;

    With other Tales for Wintry Nights and Rainy Days. Illustrated by
    H. Weir. 2_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 3_s._ 6_d._ coloured, gilt edges.

    "The dedication of these pretty tales, prove by whom they are
    written; they are indelibly stamped with that natural and graceful
    method of amusing while instructing, which only persons of genius
    possess."--_Art Journal._

Old Nurse's Book of Rhymes, Jingles, and Ditties.

    Edited and Illustrated by C. H. BENNETT, Author of "Shadows." With
    Ninety Engravings. Fcap. 4to. price 3_s._ 6_d._ cloth, plain, or
    6_s._ coloured.

    "The illustrations are all so replete with fun and imagination,
    that we scarcely know who will be most pleased with the book, the
    good-natured grandfather who gives it, or the chubby grandchild
    who gets it, for a Christmas-Box."--_Notes and Queries._

Maud Summers the Sightless:

    A Narrative for the Young. Illustrated by Absolon. 3_s._ 6_d._
    cloth; 4_s._ 6_d._ coloured, gilt edges.

    "A touching and beautiful story."--_Christian Treasury._

Clara Hope;

    Or, the Blade and the Ear. By MISS MILNER. With Frontispiece by
    Birket Foster. Fcap. 8vo. price 3_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 4_s._ 6_d._
    cloth elegant, gilt edges.

    "A beautiful narrative, showing how bad habits may be eradicated,
    and evil tempers subdued."--_British Mother's Journal._

    The Adventures and Experiences of Biddy Dorking and of the FAT
    FROG.

    Edited by MRS. S. C. HALL. Illustrated by H. Weir. 2_s._ 6_d._
    cloth; 3_s._ 6_d._ coloured, gilt edges.

    "Most amusingly and wittily told."--_Morning Herald._


ATTRACTIVE AND INSTRUCTIVE AMUSEMENT FOR THE YOUNG.

Home Pastime;

    Or, The Child's Own Toy Maker. With practical instructions. By E.
    LANDELLS. New and Cheaper Edition, price 3_s._ 6_d._ complete,
    with the Cards, and Descriptive Letterpress.

    [Asterism] By this novel and ingenious "Pastime," beautiful Models
    can be made by Children from the Cards, by attending to the Plain
    and Simple Instructions in the Book.

    CONTENTS: 1. Wheelbarrow.--2. Cab.--3. Omnibus.--4. Nursery
    Yacht.--5. French Bedstead.--6. Perambulator.--7. Railway
    Engine.--8. Railway Tender.--9. Railway Carriage.--10. Prince
    Albert's Model Cottage.--11. Windmill.--12. Sledge.

    "As a delightful exercise of ingenuity, and a most sensible mode
    of passing a winter's evening, we commend the Child's own Toy
    Maker."--_Illustrated News._

    "Should be in every house blessed with the presence of
    children."--_The Field._


BY THE AUTHOR OF "CAT AND DOG," ETC.

Historical Acting Charades;

    Or, Amusements for Winter Evenings. New Edition. Fcap. 8vo. price
    3_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 4_s._ gilt edges.

    "A rare book for Christmas parties, and of practical
    value."--_Illustrated News._

The Story of Jack and the Giants:

    With thirty-five Illustrations by RICHARD DOYLE. Beautifully
    printed. New and Cheaper Edition. Fcap. 4to. price 2_s._ 6_d._ in
    fancy boards; 4_s._ 6_d._ coloured, extra cloth, gilt edges.

    "In Doyle's drawings we have wonderful conceptions, which will
    secure the book a place amongst the treasures of collectors, as
    well as excite the imaginations of children."--_Illustrated
    Times._

Granny's Wonderful Chair;

    And its Tales of Fairy Times. By FRANCES BROWNE. With
    Illustrations by KENNY MEADOWS. Small 4to., 3_s._ 6_d._ cloth,
    4_s._ 6_d._ coloured, gilt edges.

    "One of the happiest blendings of marvel and moral we have ever
    seen."--_Literary Gazette._

Pictures from the Pyrenees;

    Or, Agnes' and Kate's Travels. By CAROLINE BELL. With numerous
    Illustrations. Small 4to.; price 3_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 4_s._ 6_d._
    coloured, gilt edges.

    "With admirable simplicity of manner it notices the towns, the
    scenery, the people, and natural phenomena of this grand mountain
    region."--_The Press._

The Early Dawn;

    Or, Stories to Think about. By a COUNTRY CLERGYMAN. Illustrated by
    H. WEIR, etc. Small 4to.; price 2_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 3_s._ 6_d._
    coloured, gilt edges.

    "The matter is both wholesome and instructive, and must fascinate
    as well as benefit the young."--_Literarium_.

Angelo;

    Or, the Pine Forest among the Alps. By GERALDINE E. JEWSBURY,
    author of "The Adopted Child," etc. With Illustrations by JOHN
    ABSOLON. Small 4to.; price 2_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 3_s._ 6_d._
    coloured, gilt edges.

    "As pretty a child's story as one might look for on a winter's
    day."--_Examiner._

Tales of Magic and Meaning.

    Written and Illustrated by ALFRED CROWQUILL, Author of "Funny
    Leaves for the Younger Branches," "The Careless Chicken," "Picture
    Fables," etc. Small 4to.; price 3_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 4_s._ 6_d._
    coloured.

    "Cleverly written, abounding in frolic and pathos, and inculcates
    so pure a moral, that we must pronounce him a very fortunate
    little fellow, who catches these 'Tales of Magic,' as a windfall
    from 'The Christmas Tree'."--_Athenæum._

Faggots for the Fire Side;

    Or, Tales of Fact and Fancy. By PETER PARLEY. With Twelve Tinted
    Illustrations. Foolscap 8vo.; 3_s._ 6_d._, cloth; 4_s._ gilt
    edges.

    CONTENTS.--The Boy Captive; or Jumping Rabbit's Story--The White
    Owl--Tom Titmouse--The Wolf and Fox--Bob Link--Autobiography of a
    Sparrow--The Children of the Sun: a Tale of the Incas--The Soldier
    and Musician--The Rich Man and His Son--The Avalanche--Flint and
    Steel--Songs of the Seasons, etc.

    "A new book by Peter Parley is a pleasant greeting for all boys
    and girls, wherever the English language is spoken and read. He
    has a happy method of conveying information, while seeming to
    address himself to the imagination."--_The Critic._

The Discontented Children;

    And How they were Cured. By MARY and ELIZABETH KIRBY, authors of
    "The Talking Bird," etc. Illustrated by H. K. BROWNE (Phiz).
    Second edition, price 2_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 3_s._ 6_d._ coloured,
    gilt edges.

    "We know no better method of banishing 'discontent' from
    school-room and nursery than by introducing this wise and clever
    story to their inmates."--_Art Journal._

The Talking Bird;

    Or, the Little Girl who knew what was going to happen. By M. and
    E. KIRBY, Authors of "The Discontented Children," etc. With
    Illustrations by H. K. BROWNE (Phiz). Small 4to. Price 2_s._ 6_d._
    cloth; 3_s._ 6_d._ coloured, gilt edges.

    "The story is ingeniously told, and the moral clearly
    shown."--_Athenæum._

Julia Maitland;

    Or, Pride goes before a Fall. By M. and E. KIRBY, Authors of "The
    Talking Bird," etc. Illustrated by JOHN ABSOLON. Price 2_s._ 6_d._
    cloth; 3_s._ 6_d._ coloured, gilt edges.

    "It is nearly such a story as Miss Edgeworth might have written on
    the same theme."--_The Press._

Letters from Sarawak,

    Addressed to a Child; embracing an Account of the Manners,
    Customs, and Religion of the Inhabitants of Borneo, with Incidents
    of Missionary Life among the Natives. By MRS. M'DOUGALL. Fourth
    Thousand, enlarged in size, with Illustrations. 3_s._ 6_d._ cloth.

    "All is new, interesting, and admirably told."--_Church and State
    Gazette._


COMICAL PICTURE BOOKS.

_Uniform in size with_ "The Struwwelpeter."

    Each with Sixteen large Coloured Plates, price 2_s._ 6_d._, in
    fancy boards, or mounted on cloth, 1_s._ extra.

Picture Fables.

    Written and Illustrated by ALFRED CROWQUILL.

The Careless Chicken;

    By the BARON KRAKEMSIDES. By ALFRED CROWQUILL.

Funny Leaves for the Younger Branches.

    By the BARON KRAKEMSIDES, of Burstenoudelafen Castle. Illustrated
    by ALFRED CROWQUILL.

Laugh and Grow Wise;

    By the Senior Owl of Ivy Hall.

The Remarkable History of the House that Jack Built.

    Splendidly Illustrated and magnificently Illuminated by THE SON OF
    A GENIUS. Price 2_s._ in fancy cover.

    "Magnificent in suggestion, and most comical in
    expression!"--ATHENÆUM.

A Peep at the Pixies;

    Or, Legends of the West. By MRS. BRAY. Author of "The Borders of
    the Tamar and the Tavy," "Life of Stothard," "Trelawny," etc.,
    etc. With Illustrations by HABLOT K. BROWNE (Phiz). Super-royal
    16mo., price 3_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 4_s._ 6_d._ coloured, gilt edges.

    "A peep at the actual Pixies of Devonshire, faithfully described
    by Mrs. Bray, is a treat. Her knowledge of the locality, her
    affection for her subject, her exquisite feeling for nature, and
    her real delight in fairy lore, have given a freshness to the
    little volume we did not expect. The notes at the end contain
    matter of interest for all who feel a desire to know the origin of
    such tales and legends."--_Art Journal._


A BOOK FOR EVERY CHILD.

The Favourite Picture Book;

    A Gallery of Delights, designed for the Amusement and Instruction
    of the Young. With several Hundred Illustrations from Drawings by
    J. ABSOLON, H. K. BROWNE (Phiz), J. GILBERT, T. LANDSEER, J.
    LEECH, J. S. PROUT, H. WEIR, etc. New Edition. Royal 4to., price
    3_s._ 6_d._, bound in a new and Elegant Cover; 7_s._ 6_d._
    coloured; 10_s._ 6_d._ mounted on cloth and coloured.

Ocean and her Rulers;

    A Narrative of the Nations who have from the earliest ages held
    dominion over the Sea; and comprising a brief History of
    Navigation. By ALFRED ELWES. With Frontispiece. Fcap. 8vo., 5_s._
    cloth; 5_s._ 6_d._ gilt edges.

     "The volume is replete with valuable and interesting information;
     and we cordially recommend it as a useful auxiliary in the
     school-room, and entertaining companion in the
     library."--_Morning Post._

Berries and Blossoms.

    A Verse Book for Children. By T. WESTWOOD. With Title and
    Frontispiece printed in Colours. Super-royal 16mo., price 3_s._
    6_d._ cloth, gilt edges.

The Wonders of Home, in Eleven Stories.

    By GRANDFATHER GREY. With Illustrations. Third and Cheaper
    Edition. Royal 16mo., 2_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 3_s._ 6_d._ coloured,
    gilt edges.

    CONTENTS.--1. The Story of a Cup of Tea.--2. A Lump of Coal.--3.
    Some Hot Water.--4. A Piece of Sugar.--5. The Milk Jug.--6. A
    Pin.--7. Jenny's Sash.--8. Harry's Jacket.--9. A Tumbler.--10. A
    Knife.--11. This Book.

    "The idea is excellent, and its execution equally commendable. The
    subjects are well selected, and are very happily told in a light
    yet sensible manner."--_Weekly News._

Cat and Dog;

    Or, Memoirs of Puss and the Captain. Illustrated by WEIR. Sixth
    Edition. Super-royal 16mo., 2_s._ 6_d_, cloth; 3_s._ 6_d._
    coloured, gilt edges.

    "The author of this amusing little tale is, evidently, a keen
    observer of nature. The illustrations are well executed; and the
    moral, which points the tale, is conveyed in the most attractive
    form."--_Britannia._

The Doll and Her Friends;

    Or, Memoirs of the Lady Seraphina. By the Author of "Cat and Dog."
    Third Edition. With Four Illustrations by H. K. BROWNE (Phiz).
    2_s._ 6_d._, cloth; 3_s._ 6_d._ coloured, gilt edges.

    "Evidently written by one who has brought great powers to bear
    upon a small matter."--_Morning Herald._

Tales from Catland;

    Dedicated to the Young Kittens of England. By an OLD TABBY.
    Illustrated by H. WEIR. Third Edition. Small 4to., 2_s._ 6_d._
    plain; 3_s._ 6_d._ coloured, gilt edges.

    "The combination of quiet humour and sound sense has made this one
    of the pleasantest little books of the season."--_Lady's
    Newspaper._

The Grateful Sparrow.

    A True Story, with Frontispiece. Second Edition. Price 6_d._
    sewed.

How I Became a Governess.

    By the Author of "The Grateful Sparrow." With Frontispiece. Price
    1_s._ sewed.


WORKS BY MRS. R. LEE.

Anecdotes of the Habits and Instincts of Animals.

    Third and Cheaper Edition. With Illustrations by HARRISON WEIR.
    Fcap. 8vo., 3_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 4_s._ gilt edges.

Anecdotes of the Habits and Instincts of Birds, Reptiles, and Fishes.

    With Illustrations by HARRISON WEIR. Second and Cheaper Edition.
    Fcap. 8vo., 3_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 4_s._ gilt edges.

    "Amusing, instructive, and ably written."--_Literary Gazette._

    "Mrs. Lee's authorities--to name only one, Professor Owen--are,
    for the most part first-rate."--_Athenæum._

Twelve Stories of the Sayings and Doings of Animals.

    With Illustrations by J. W. ARCHER. Third Edition. Super-royal
    16mo., 2_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 3_s._ 6_d._ coloured, gilt edges.

    "It is just such books as this that educate the imagination of
    children, and enlist their sympathies for the brute
    creation."--_Nonconformist._

Familiar Natural History.

    With Forty-two Illustrations from Original Drawings by HARRISON
    WEIR. Super-royal 16mo., 3_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 5_s._ coloured gilt
    edges.

Playing at Settlers;

    Or, the Faggot House. Illustrated by GILBERT. Second Edition.
    Price 2_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 3_s._ 6_d._ coloured, gilt edges.

Adventures in Australia;

    Or, the Wanderings of Captain Spencer in the Bush and the Wilds.
    Second Edition. Illustrated by PROUT. Fcap. 8vo., 5_s._ cloth;
    5_s._ 6_d._ gilt edges.

    "This volume should find a place in every school library; and it
    will, we are sure, be a very welcome and useful
    prize."--_Educational Times._

The African Wanderers;

    Or, the Adventures of Carlos and Antonio; embracing interesting
    Descriptions of the Manners and Customs of the Western Tribes, and
    the Natural Productions of the Country. Third Edition. With Eight
    Engravings. Fcap. 8vo., 5_s._ cloth; 5_s._ 6_d._ gilt edges.

    "For fascinating adventure, and rapid succession of incident, the
    volume is equal to any relation of travel we ever
    read."--_Britannia._

    "In strongly recommending this admirable work to the attention of
    young readers, we feel that we are rendering a real service to the
    cause of African civilization."--_Patriot._

Sir Thomas; or, the Adventures of a Cornish Baronet in Western Africa.

    With Illustrations by J. GILBERT. Fcap. 8vo.; 3_s._ 6_d._ cloth.

Harry Hawkins's H-Book;

    Shewing how he learned to aspirate his H's. Frontispiece by H.
    WEIR. Super-royal 16mo., price 6_d._

    "No family or school-room within, or indeed beyond, the sound of
    Bow bells, should be without this merry manual."--_Art Journal._

The Family Bible Newly Opened;

    With Uncle Goodwin's account of it. By JEFFERYS TAYLOR, author of
    "A Glance at the Globe," etc. Frontispiece by J. GILBERT. Fcap.
    8vo., 3_s._ 6_d._ cloth.

    "A very good account of the Sacred Writings, adapted to the
    tastes, feelings, and intelligence of young people."--_Educational
    Times._

    "Parents will also find it a great aid in the religious teaching
    of their families."--_Edinburgh Witness._

Kate and Rosalind;

    Or, Early Experiences. By the author of "Quicksands on Foreign
    Shores," etc. Fcap. 8vo., 3_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 4_s._ gilt edges.

    "A book of unusual merit. The story is exceedingly well told, and
    the characters are drawn with a freedom and boldness seldom met
    with."--_Church of England Quarterly._

    "We have not room to exemplify the skill with which Puseyism is
    tracked and detected. The Irish scenes are of an excellence that
    has not been surpassed since the best days of Miss
    Edgeworth."--_Fraser's Magazine._

Good in Everything;

    Or, The Early History of Gilbert Harland. By MRS. BARWELL, Author
    of "Little Lessons for Little Learners," etc. Second Edition. With
    Illustrations by JOHN GILBERT. Royal 16mo., 2_s._ 6_d._ cloth;
    3_s._ 6_d._, coloured, gilt edges.

    "The moral of this exquisite little tale will do more good than a
    thousand set tasks abounding with dry and uninteresting
    truisms."--_Bell's Messenger._

A Word to the Wise;

    Or, Hints on the Current Improprieties of Expression in Writing
    and Speaking. By PARRY GWYNNE. Fifth Edition. 18mo. price 6_d._
    sewed, or 1_s._ cloth, gilt edges.

    "All who wish to mind their _p's_ and _q's_ should consult this
    little volume."--_Gentleman's Magazine._

    "May be advantageously consulted by even the
    well-educated."--_Athenæum._


ELEGANT GIFT FOR A LADY.

Trees, Plants, and Flowers;

    Their Beauties, Uses and Influences. By Mrs. R. LEE, Author of
    "The African Wanderers," etc. With beautiful coloured
    Illustrations by J. ANDREWS. 8vo., price 10_s._ 6_d._, cloth
    elegant, gilt edges.

    "The volume is at once useful as a botanical work, and exquisite
    as the ornament of a boudoir table."--_Britannia._

    "As full of interest as of beauty."--_Art Journal._


NEW AND BEAUTIFUL LIBRARY EDITION.

The Vicar of Wakefield;

    A Tale. By OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Printed by Whittingham. With Eight
    Illustrations by J. ABSOLON. Square fcap. 8vo. price 5_s._, cloth;
    7_s._ half-bound morocco, Roxburghe style; 10_s._ 6_d._ antique
    morocco.

    Mr. Absolon's graphic sketches add greatly to the interest of the
    volume: altogether, it is as pretty an edition of the 'Vicar' as
    we have seen. Mrs. Primrose herself would consider it 'well
    dressed.'"--_Art Journal._

    "A delightful edition of one of the most delightful of works: the
    fine old type and thick paper make this volume attractive to any
    lover of books."--_Edinburgh Guardian._


WORKS BY MRS. LOUDON.

Domestic Pets;

    Their Habits and Management; with Illustrative Anecdotes. By Mrs.
    LOUDON. With Engravings from Drawings by HARRISON WEIR. Second
    Thousand. Fcap. 8vo., 2_s._ 6_d._ cloth.

    CONTENTS:--The Dog, Cat, Squirrel, Rabbit, Guinea-Pig, White Mice,
    the Parrot and other Talking Birds, Singing Birds, Doves and
    Pigeons, Gold and Silver Fish.

    "A most attractive and instructive little work. All who study Mrs.
    Loudon's pages will be able to treat their pets with certainty and
    wisdom."--_Standard of Freedom._

Glimpses of Nature;

    And Objects of Interest described during a Visit to the Isle of
    Wight. Designed to assist and encourage Young Persons in forming
    habits of observation. By Mrs. LOUDON. Second Edition, enlarged.
    With Forty-one Illustrations. 3_s._ 6_d._ cloth.

    "We could not recommend a more valuable little volume. It is full
    of information, conveyed in the most agreeable manner."--_Literary
    Gazette._

Tales of School Life.

    By AGNES LOUDON, Author of "Tales for Young People." With
    Illustrations by JOHN ABSOLON. Second Edition. Royal 16mo., 2_s._
    6_d._ plain; 3_s._ 6_d._ coloured, gilt edges.

    "These reminiscences of school days will be recognised as truthful
    pictures of every-day occurrence. The style is colloquial and
    pleasant, and therefore well suited to those for whose perusal it
    is intended."--_Athenæum._


MISS JEWSBURY.

Clarissa Donnelly;

    Or, The History of an Adopted Child. By MISS GERALDINE E.
    JEWSBURY. With an Illustration by JOHN ABSOLON. Fcap. 8vo., 3_s._
    6_d._ cloth; 4_s._ gilt edges.

    "With wonderful power, only to be matched by as admirable a
    simplicity, Miss Jewsbury has narrated the history of a child. For
    nobility of purpose, for simple, nervous writing, and for artistic
    construction, it is one of the most valuable works of the
    day."--_Lady's Companion._

The Day of a Baby Boy;

    A Story for a Young Child. By E. BERGER. With Illustrations by
    JOHN ABSOLON. Second Edition. Super-royal 16mo., price 2_s._ 6_d._
    cloth; 3_s._ 6_d._ coloured, gilt edges.

    "A sweet little book for the nursery."--_Christian Times._

Every-Day Things;

    Or, Useful Knowledge respecting the principal Animal, Vegetable,
    and Mineral Substances in common use. Written for Young Persons.
    Second Edition, revised. 18mo., 1_s._ 6_d._ cloth.

    "A little encyc'opædia of useful knowledge, deserving a place in
    every juvenile library."--_Evangelical Magazine._

PRICE SIXPENCE EACH, PLAIN; ONE SHILLING, COLOURED.

_In Super-Royal 16mo., beautifully printed, each with Seven
Illustrations by_ HARRISON WEIR, _and Descriptions by_ MRS. LEE.

    1. BRITISH ANIMALS. First Series.
    2. BRITISH ANIMALS. Second Series.
    3. BRITISH BIRDS.
    4. FOREIGN ANIMALS. First Series.
    5. FOREIGN ANIMALS. Second Series.
    6. FOREIGN BIRDS.

    [Asterism] Or bound in One Volume under the title of "Familiar
    Natural History," _see page_ 16.

    _Uniform in size and price with the above._

    THE FARM AND ITS SCENES. With Six Pictures from Drawings by
    HARRISON WEIR.

    THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN. With Six Illustrations by
    WATTS PHILLIPS.

    THE PEACOCK AT HOME, AND BUTTERFLY'S BALL. With Four Illustrations
    by HARRISON WEIR.


WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OF MAMMA'S BIBLE STORIES.

Fanny and her Mamma;

    Or, Easy Lessons for Children. In which it is attempted to bring
    Scriptural Principles into daily practice. Illustrated by J.
    GILBERT. Third Edition. 16mo., 2_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 3_s._ 6_d._.
    coloured, gilt edges.

    "A little book in beautiful large clear type, to suit the capacity
    of infant readers, which we can with pleasure
    recommend."--_Christian Ladies' Magazine._

Short and Simple Prayers,

    For the Use of Young Children. With Hymns. Fifth Edition. Square
    16mo., 1_s._ 6_d._ cloth.

    "Well adapted to the capacities of children--beginning with the
    simplest forms which the youngest child may lisp at its mother's
    knee, and proceeding with those suited to its gradually advancing
    age. Special prayers, designed for particular circumstances and
    occasions, are added. We cordially recommend the
    book."--_Christian Guardian._

Mamma's Bible Stories,

    For her Little Boys and Girls, adapted to the capacities of very
    young Children. Eleventh Edition, with Twelve Engravings. 2_s._
    6_d._ cloth; 3_s._ 6_d._ coloured, gilt edges.

A Sequel to Mamma's Bible Stories.

    Fifth Edition. Twelve Illustrations. 2_s._ 6_d._ cloth, 3_s._
    6_d._ coloured.

Scripture Histories for Little Children.

    With Sixteen Illustrations, by JOHN GILBERT. Super-royal 16mo.,
    price 3_s._ cloth; 4_s._ 6_d._ coloured, gilt edges.

    CONTENTS.--The History of Joseph--History of Moses--History of
    our Saviour--The Miracles of Christ.

    _Sold separately: 6d. each, plain; 1s. coloured._

Bible Scenes;

    Or, Sunday Employment for very young Children. Consisting of
    Twelve Coloured Illustrations on Cards, and the History written in
    Simple Language. In a neat box, 3_s._ 6_d._; or the Illustrations
    dissected as a Puzzle, 6_s._ 6_d._

    FIRST SERIES: JOSEPH.
    SECOND SERIES: OUR SAVIOUR.
    THIRD SERIES: MOSES.
    FOURTH SERIES: MIRACLES OF CHRIST.

    "It is hoped that these 'Scenes' may form a useful and interesting
    addition to the Sabbath occupations of the Nursery. From their
    very earliest infancy little children will listen with interest
    and delight to stories brought thus palpably before their eyes by
    means of illustration."--_Preface._


ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.

Kit Bam, the British Sinbad;

    Or, the Yarns of an Old Mariner. By MARY COWDEN CLARKE, author of
    "The Concordance to Shakspeare," etc. Fcap. 8vo., price 3_s._
    6_d._ cloth; 4_s._ gilt edges.

    "A more captivating volume for juvenile recreative reading we
    never remember to have seen. It is as wonderful as the 'Arabian
    Nights,' while it is free from the objectionable matter which
    characterises the Eastern fiction."--_Standard of Freedom._

    "Cruikshank's plates are worthy of his genius."--_Examiner._

The Favourite Library.

    A Series of Works for the Young; each Volume with an Illustration
    by a well-known Artist. Price 1_s._ cloth.

     1. THE ESKDALE HERD BOY. By LADY STODDART.
     2. MRS. LEICESTER'S SCHOOL. By CHARLES and MARY LAMB.
     3. THE HISTORY OF THE ROBINS. By MRS. TRIMMER.
     4. MEMOIR OF BOB, THE SPOTTED TERRIER.
     5. KEEPER'S TRAVELS IN SEARCH OF HIS MASTER.
     6. THE SCOTTISH ORPHANS. By LADY STODDART.
     7. NEVER WRONG; or, THE YOUNG DISPUTANT; and "IT WAS ONLY IN FUN."
     8. THE LIFE AND PERAMBULATIONS OF A MOUSE.
     9. EASY INTRODUCTION TO THE KNOWLEDGE OF NATURE. By MRS. TRIMMER.
    10. RIGHT AND WRONG. By the Author of "ALWAYS HAPPY."
    11. HARRY'S HOLIDAY. By JEFFERYS TAYLOR.
    12. SHORT POEMS AND HYMNS FOR CHILDREN.

_The above may be had Two Volumes bound in One, at Two Shillings
cloth, or 2s. 6d. gilt edges, as follows:_--

    1. LADY STODDART'S SCOTTISH TALES.
    2. ANIMAL HISTORIES. THE DOG.
    3. ANIMAL HISTORIES. THE ROBINS and MOUSE.
    4. TALES FOR BOYS. HARRY'S HOLIDAY and NEVER WRONG.
    5. TALES FOR GIRLS. MRS. LEICESTER'S SCHOOL and RIGHT
    AND WRONG.
    6. POETRY AND NATURE. SHORT POEMS and TRIMMER'S
    INTRODUCTION.

Stories of Julian and his Playfellows.

    Written by HIS MAMMA. With Four Illustrations by JOHN ABSOLON.
    Second Edition. Small 4to., 2_s._ 6_d._, plain; 3_s._ 6_d._,
    coloured, gilt edges.

    "The lessons taught by Julian's mamma are each fraught with an
    excellent moral."--_Morning Advertiser._

Blades and Flowers.

    Poems for Children. Frontispiece by H. ANELAY. Fcap. 8vo; price
    2_s._ cloth.

    "Breathing the same spirit as the Nursery Poems of Jane
    Taylor."--_Literary Gazette._

Aunt Jane's Verses for Children.

    By Mrs. T. D. CREWDSON. Illustrated with twelve beautiful
    Engravings. Fcap. 8vo; 3_s._ 6_d._ cloth.

    "A charming little volume, of excellent moral and religious
    tendency."--_Evangelical Magazine._

The History of a Family;

    Or, Religion our best Support. With an Illustration on Steel by
    JOHN ABSOLON. Fcap. 8vo., 2_s._ 6_d._ cloth.

    "A natural and gracefully written story, pervaded by a tone of
    Scriptural piety, and well calculated to foster just views of life
    and duty. We hope it will find its way into many English
    homes."--_Englishwoman's Magazine._

Rhymes of Royalty.

    The History of England in Verse, from the Norman Conquest to the
    reign of QUEEN VICTORIA; with an Appendix, comprising a summary of
    the leading events in each reign. By S. BLEWETT. Fcap. 8vo., with
    Frontispiece. 2_s._ 6_d._ cloth.


NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION.

The Ladies' Album of Fancy Work.

    Consisting of Novel, Elegant, and Useful Patterns in Knitting,
    Netting, Crochet, and Embroidery, printed in Colours. Bound in a
    beautiful cover. New Edition. Post 4to., 3_s._ 6_d._, gilt edges.


HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

The Dream of Little Tuk;

    And other Tales, by H. C. ANDERSEN. Translated and dedicated to
    the Author by CHARLES BONER. Illustrated by COUNT POCCI. Fcap.
    8vo., 2_s._ plain; 3_s._ coloured.

    "Full of charming passages of prose, poetry, and such tiny
    dramatic scenes as will make the pulses of young readers throb
    with delight."--_Atlas._

Visits to Beechwood Farm;

    Or, Country Pleasures, and Hints for Happiness addressed to the
    Young. By CATHERINE M. A. COUPER. Illustrations by ABSOLON. Small
    4to., 3_s._ 6_d._, plain; 4_s._ 6_d._ coloured; gilt edges.

    "The work is well calculated to impress upon the minds of the
    young the superiority of simple and natural pleasures over those
    which are artificial."--_Englishwoman's Magazine._

Insect Changes.

    With richly Illuminated Borders, composed of Flowers and Insects,
    in the highly-wrought style of the celebrated "Hours of Anne of
    Brittany," and forming a first Lesson in Entomology. Price 5_s._,
    in elegant binding.

    "One of the richest gifts ever offered, even in this improving
    age, to childhood. Nothing can be more perfect in illumination
    than the embellishments of this charming little volume."--_Art
    Union._

The Modern British Plutarch;

    Or, Lives of Men distinguished in the recent History of our
    Country for their Talents, Virtues and Achievements. By W. C.
    TAYLOR, LL.D. Author of "A Manual of Ancient and Modern History,"
    etc. 12mo., Second Thousand, with a new Frontispiece. 4_s._ 6_d._
    cloth; 5_s._ gilt edges.

    CONTENTS: Arkwright--Burke--Burns--Byron--Canning--Earl of
    Chatham--Adam Clarke--Clive--Captain Cook--Cowper--Crabbe
    --Davy--Eldon--Erskine--Fox--Franklin--Goldsmith--Earl Grey
    --Warren Hastings--Heber--Howard--Jenner--Sir W. Jones--
    Mackintosh--H. Martyn--Sir J. Moore--Nelson--Pitt--Romilly
    --Sir W. Scott--Sheridan--Smeaton--Watt--Marquis of Wellesley
    --Wilberforce--Wilkie--Wellington.

    "A work which will be welcomed in any circle of intelligent young
    persons."--_British Quarterly Review._

Home Amusements.

    A Choice Collection of Riddles, Charades, Conundrums, Parlour
    Games, and Forfeits. By PETER PUZZLEWELL, Esq., of Rebus Hall. New
    Edition, revised and enlarged, with Frontispiece by H. K. BROWNE
    (Phiz). 16mo., 2_s._ 6_d._ cloth.

Early Days of English Princes.

    By Mrs. RUSSELL GRAY. Dedicated by permission to the Duchess of
    Roxburgh. With Illustrations by JOHN FRANKLIN. Small 4to., 3_s._
    6_d._ cloth; 4_s._ 6_d._ coloured, gilt edges.

    "Just the book for giving children some first notions of English
    history, as the personages it speaks about are themselves
    young."--_Manchester Examiner._

First Steps in Scottish History,

    By MISS RODWELL, Author of "First Steps to English History." With
    Ten Illustrations by WEIGALL. 16mo., 3_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 4_s._
    6_d._ coloured.

    "It is the first popular book in which we have seen the outlines
    of the early history of the Scottish tribes exhibited with
    anything like accuracy."--_Glasgow Constitutional._

    "The work is throughout agreeably and lucidly written."--_Midland
    Counties Herald._

London Cries and Public Edifices.

    Illustrated in Twenty-four Engravings by LUKE LIMNER; with
    descriptive Letter-press. Square 12mo., 2_s._ 6_d._ plain; 5_s._
    coloured. Bound in emblematic cover.

The Silver Swan;

    A Fairy Tale. By MADAME DE CHATELAIN. Illustrated by JOHN LEECH.
    Small 4to., 2_s._ 6_d._ cloth; 3_s._ 6_d._ coloured, gilt edges.

    "The moral is in the good, broad, unmistakeable style of the best
    fairy period."--_Athenæum._

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                     *      *      *      *      *




Transcriber's note:

Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.

Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained
as printed.





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