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Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
 THE FLYING-FISH.

The flying-fish, says the fable, had originally no wings, but being of
an ambitious and discontented temper, she repined at being always
confined to the waters, and wished to soar in the air. “If I could fly
like the birds,” said she, “I should not only see more of the beauties
of nature, but I should be able to escape from those fish which are
continually pursuing me, and which render my life miserable.” She
therefore petitioned Jupiter for a pair of wings; and immediately she
perceived her fins to expand. They suddenly grew to the length of
her whole body, and became at the same time so strong as to do the
office of a pinion. She was at first much pleased with her new
powers, and looked with an air of disdain on all her former
companions; but she soon perceived herself exposed to new
dangers. When flying in the air, she was incessantly pursued by the
tropic bird and the albatross; and when for safety she dropped into
the water, she was so fatigued with her flight, that she was less able
than ever to escape from her old enemies the fish. Finding herself
more unhappy than before, she now begged of Jupiter to recall his
present; but Jupiter said to her, “When I gave you your wings, I well
knew they would prove a curse; but your proud and restless
disposition deserved this disappointment. Now, therefore, what you
begged as a favour, keep as a punishment!”
 THE LITTLE DOG.—A Fable.

“What shall I do,” said a very little dog one day to his mother, “to
show my gratitude to our good master, and make myself of some
value to him? I cannot draw or carry burdens, like the horse, nor
give him milk, like the cow; nor lend him my covering for his
clothing, like the sheep; nor produce him eggs, like the poultry; nor
catch mice and rats so well as the cat. I cannot divert him with
singing, like the canaries and linnets; nor can I defend him against
robbers, like our relation Towzer. I should not be of use to him even
if I were dead, as the hogs are. I am a poor insignificant creature,
not worth the cost of keeping; and I don’t see that I can do a single
thing to entitle me to his regard.” So saying, the poor little dog hung
down his head in silent despondency.
“My dear child,” replied his mother, “though your abilities are but
small, yet a hearty good will is sufficient to supply all defects. Do but
love him dearly, and prove your love by all the means in your power,
and you will not fail to please him.”
The little dog was comforted with this assurance; and on his
master’s approach, ran to him, licked his feet, gambolled before him,
and every now and then stopped, wagging his tail, and looking up to
his master with expressions of the most humble and affectionate
attachment. The master observed him. “Ah, little Fido,” said he, “you
are an honest, good-natured little fellow!”—and stooped down to pat
his head. Poor Fido was ready to go out of his wits for joy.
Fido was now his master’s constant companion in his walks, playing
and skipping round him, and amusing him by a thousand sportive
tricks. He took care, however, not to be troublesome by leaping on
him with dirty paws, nor would he follow him into the parlour, unless
invited. He also attempted to make himself useful by a number of
little services. He would drive away the sparrows as they were
stealing the chickens’ food, and would run and bark with the utmost
fury at any strange pigs or other animals that offered to come into
the yard. He kept the poultry, geese, and pigs, from straying beyond
their bounds, and particularly from doing mischief in the garden. He
was always ready to alarm Towzer if there was any suspicious noise
about the house, day or night. If his master pulled off his coat in the
field to help his workmen, as he would sometimes do, Fido always
sat by it, and would not suffer either man or beast to touch it. By
this means he came to be considered as a very trusty protector of
his master’s property.
His master was once confined to his bed with a dangerous illness.
Fido planted himself at the chamber-door, and could not be
persuaded to leave it, even to take food; and as soon as his master
was so far recovered as to sit up, Fido being admitted into the room,
ran up to him with such marks of excessive joy and affection, as
would have melted any heart to behold. This circumstance
wonderfully endeared him to his master; and, some time after, he
had an opportunity of doing him a very important service. One hot
day, after dinner, his master was sleeping in a summer-house with
Fido by his side. The building was old and crazy; and the dog, who
was faithfully watching his master, perceived the walls shake, and
pieces of mortar fall from the ceiling. He comprehended the danger,
and began barking to awake his master; and this not sufficing, he
jumped up and gently bit his finger. The master, upon this, started
up, and had just time to get out of the door before the whole
building fell down. Fido, who was behind, got hurt by some rubbish
which fell upon him; on which his master had him taken care of with
the utmost tenderness, and ever after acknowledged his obligation
to this animal as the preserver of his life. Thus his love and fidelity
had their full reward.
Moral.—The poorest man may repay his obligations to the richest
and greatest by faithful and affectionate service—the meanest
creature may obtain the favour and regard of the Creator himself, by
humble gratitude and steadfast obedience.
 TRAVELLERS’ WONDERS.

One winter’s evening, as Captain Compass was sitting by the fireside

with his children all around him, little Jack said to him, “Papa, pray
tell us some stories about what you have seen in your voyages. I
have been vastly entertained, while you were abroad, with Gulliver’s
Travels, and the Adventures of Sinbad the Sailor; and I think, as you
have gone round and round the world, you must have met with
things as wonderful as they did.”—“No, my dear,” said the captain, “I
never met with Lilliputians or Brobdignagians, I assure you, nor ever
saw the black loadstone mountain, or the valley of diamonds; but, to
be sure, I have seen a great variety of people, and their different
manners and ways of living; and if it will be any entertainment to
you, I will tell you some curious particulars of what I
observed.”—“Pray do, papa,” cried Jack and all his brothers and
sisters: so they drew close round him, and he began as follows:—
“Well, then—I was once, about this time of the year, in a country
where it was very cold, and the poor inhabitants had much ado to
keep themselves from starving. They were clad partly in the skins of
beasts, made smooth and soft by a particular art, but chiefly in
garments made from the outward covering of a middle-sized
quadruped, which they were so cruel as to strip off his back while he
was alive. They dwelt in habitations, part of which was sunk
underground. The materials were either stones, or earth hardened
by fire; and so violent in that country were the storms of wind and
rain, that many of them covered their roofs all over with stones. The
walls of their houses had holes to let in the light: but to prevent the
cold air and wet from coming in, they were covered by a sort of
transparent stone, made artificially of melted sand or flints. As wood
was rather scarce, I know not what they would have done for firing,
had they not discovered in the bowels of the earth a very
extraordinary kind of stone, which when put among burning wood,
caught fire and flamed like a torch.”
“Dear me,” said Jack, “what a wonderful stone! I suppose it was
somewhat like what we call fire-stones, that shine so when we rub
them together.”—“I don’t think they would burn,” replied the captain;
“besides, these are of a darker colour.”
“Well—but their diet too was remarkable. Some of them ate fish that
had been hung up in the smoke till they were quite dry and hard;
and along with it they ate either the roots of plants, or a sort of
coarse black cake made of powdered seeds. These were the poorer
class; the richer had a whiter kind of cake, which they were fond of
daubing over with a greasy matter that was the product of a large
animal among them. This grease they used, too, in almost all their
dishes, and, when fresh, it really was not unpalatable. They likewise
devoured the flesh of many birds and beasts when they could get it;
and ate the leaves and other parts of a variety of vegetables growing
in the country, some absolutely raw, others variously prepared by
the aid of fire. Another great article of food was the curd of milk,
pressed into a hard mass and salted. This had so rank a smell, that
persons of weak stomachs often could not bear to come near it. For
drink, they made great use of the water in which certain dry leaves
had been steeped. These leaves, I was told, came from a great
distance. They had likewise a method of preparing a liquor of the
seeds of a grasslike plant steeped in water with the addition of a
bitter herb, and then set to work or ferment. I was prevailed upon to
taste it, and thought it at first nauseous enough, but in time I liked it
pretty well. When a large quantity of the ingredients is used, it
becomes perfectly intoxicating. But what astonished me most, was
their use of a liquor so excessively hot and pungent that it seems
like liquid fire. I once got a mouthful of it by mistake, taking it for
water, which it resembles in appearance, but I thought it would
instantly have taken away my breath. Indeed, people are not
unfrequently killed by it; and yet many of them will swallow it
greedily whenever they can get it. This, too, is said to be prepared
from the seeds abovementioned, which are innocent and even
salutary in their natural state, though made to yield such a
pernicious juice. The strangest custom that I believe prevails in any
nation I found here, which was, that some take a mighty pleasure in
filling their mouths full of stinking smoke and others, in thrusting a
nasty powder up their nostrils.”
“I should think it would choke them,” said Jack. “It almost did me,”
answered his father, “only to stand by while they did it—but use, it is
truly said, is second nature.”
“I was glad enough to leave this cold climate; and about half a year
after, I fell in with a people enjoying a delicious temperature of air,
and a country full of beauty and verdure. The trees and shrubs were
furnished with a great variety of fruits, which, with other vegetable
products, constituted a large part of the food of the inhabitants. I
particularly relished certain berries growing in bunches, some white
and some red, of a very pleasant sourish taste, and so transparent
that one might see the seeds at their very centre. Here were whole
fields full of extremely odoriferous flowers, which they told me were
succeeded by pods bearing seeds, that afforded good nourishment
to man and beast. A great variety of birds enlivened the groves and
woods; among which I was entertained with one, that without any
teaching spoke almost as articulately as a parrot, though indeed it
was only a repetition of a single word. The people were tolerably
gentle and civilized, and possessed many of the arts of life. Their
dress was very various. Many were clad only in a thin cloth made of
the long fibres of the stalk of a plant cultivated for the purpose,
which they prepared by soaking in water, and then beating with
large mallets. Others wore cloth woven from a sort of vegetable
wool, growing in pods upon bushes. But the most singular material
was a fine glossy stuff, used chiefly by the richer classes, which, as I
was credibly informed, is manufactured out of the webs of
caterpillars—a most wonderful circumstance, if we consider the
immense number of caterpillars necessary to the production of so
large a quantity of stuff as I saw used. This people are very fantastic
in their dress, especially the women, whose apparel consists of a
great number of articles impossible to be described, and strangely
disguising the natural form of the body. In some instances they
seem very cleanly; but in others, the Hottentots can scarce go
beyond them; particularly in the management of their hair, which is
all matted and stiffened with the fat of swine and other animals,
mixed up with powders of various colours and ingredients. Like most
Indian nations, they use feathers in their head-dress. One thing
surprised me much, which was, that they bring up in their houses an
animal of the tiger-kind, with formidable teeth and claws, which,
notwithstanding its natural ferocity, is played with and caressed by
the most timid and delicate of their women.”
“I am sure I would not play with it,” said Jack. “Why, you might
chance to get an ugly scratch if you did,” said the captain.
“The language of this nation seems very harsh and unintelligible to a
foreigner, yet they converse among one another with great ease and
quickness. One of the oddest customs is that which men use on
saluting each other. Let the weather be what it will, they uncover
their heads, and remain uncovered for some time, if they mean to
be extraordinarily respectful.”
“Why that’s like pulling off our hats,” said Jack.—“Ah, ah! papa,”
cried Betsy, “I have found you out. You have been telling us of our
own country, and what is done at home, all this while!”—“But,” said
Jack, “we don’t burn stones or eat grease and powdered seeds, or
wear skins and caterpillars’ webs, or play with tigers.”—“No?” said
the Captain—“pray, what are coals but stones? and is not butter,
grease; and corn, seeds: and leather, skins; and silk, the web of a
kind of caterpillar? And may we not as well call a cat an animal of
the tiger kind, as a tiger an animal of the cat-kind? So, if you
recollect what I have been describing, you will find, with Betsy’s
help, that all the other wonderful things I have told you of are
matters familiar among ourselves. But I meant to show you, that a
foreigner might easily represent everything as equally strange and
wonderful among us as we could do with respect to his country; and
also to make you sensible that we daily call a great many things by
their names, without ever inquiring into their nature and properties;
so that, in reality, it is only their names, and not the things
themselves, with which we are acquainted.”
 THE DISCONTENTED SQUIRREL.

In a pleasant wood, on the western side of a ridge of mountains,

there lived a squirrel, who had passed two or three years of his life
very happily. At length, he began to grow discontented, and one day
fell into the following soliloquy:—
“What, must I spend all my time in this spot, running up and down
the same trees, gathering nuts and acorns, and dozing away months
together in a hole! I see a great many of the birds who inhabit this
wood ramble about to a distance wherever their fancy leads them;
and, at the approach of winter, set out for some remote country,
where they enjoy summer weather all the year round. My neighbour
cuckoo tells me he is just going; and even little nightingale will soon
follow. To be sure, I have not wings like them, but I have legs
nimble enough; and if one does not use them, one might as well be
a mole or a dormouse. I dare say I could easily reach to that blue
ridge which I see from the tops of the trees, which no doubt must
be a fine place; for the sun comes directly from it every morning,
and it often appears all covered with red and yellow, and the finest
colours imaginable. There can be no harm, at least, in trying; for I
can soon get back again if I don’t like it. I am resolved to go, and I
will set out to-morrow morning.”
When squirrel had taken this resolution, he could not sleep all night
for thinking of it; and at peep of day, prudently taking with him as
much provision as he could conveniently carry, he began his journey
in high spirits. He presently got to the outside of the wood, and
entered upon the open moors that reached to the foot of the hills.
These he crossed before the sun was gotten high; and then, having
eaten his breakfast with an excellent appetite, he began to ascend.
It was heavy toilsome work scrambling up the steep sides of the
mountains; but squirrel was used to climbing; so for awhile he
proceeded expeditiously. Often, however, was he obliged to stop and
take breath; so that it was a good deal past noon before he had
arrived at the summit of the first cliff. Here he sat down to eat his
dinner; and looking back, was wonderfully pleased with the fine
prospect. The wood in which he lived lay far beneath his feet; and
he viewed with scorn the humble habitation in which he had been
born and bred.
When he looked forward, however, he was somewhat discouraged to
observe that another eminence rose above him, full as distant as
that to which he had already reached; and he now began to feel stiff
and fatigued. However, after a little rest, he set out again, though
not so briskly as before. The ground was rugged, brown, and bare;
and to his great surprise, instead of finding it warmer as he got
nearer the sun, he felt it grow colder and colder. He had not
travelled two hours before his strength and spirits were almost
spent; and he seriously thought of giving up the point, and returning
before night should come on. While he was thus deliberating with
himself, clouds began to gather round the mountain, and to take
away all view of distant objects. Presently, a storm of mingled snow
and hail came down, driven by a violent wind, which pelted poor
squirrel most pitifully, and made him quite unable to move forward
or backward. Besides, he had completely lost his road, and did not
know which way to turn toward that despised home which it was
now his only desire again to reach. The storm lasted till the
approach of night; and it was as much as he could do, benumbed
and weary as he was, to crawl to the hollow of a rock at some
distance, which was the best lodging he could find for the night. His
provisions were spent; so that, hungry and shivering, he crept into
the farthest corner of the cavern, and rolling himself up, with his
bushy tail over his back, he got a little sleep, though disturbed by
the cold, and the shrill whistling of the wind among the stones.
The morning broke over the distant tops of the mountains, when
squirrel, half frozen and famished, came out of his lodging, and
advanced, as well as he could, toward the brow of the hill, that he
might discover which way to take. As he was slowly creeping along,
a hungry kite, soaring in the air above, descried him, and making a
stoop carried him off in her talons. Poor squirrel, losing his senses
with the fright, was borne away with vast rapidity, and seemed
inevitably doomed to become food for the kite’s young ones: when
an eagle, who had seen the kite seize her prey, pursued her in order
to take it from her; and overtaking her, gave her such a buffet, as
caused her to drop the squirrel in order to defend herself. The poor
animal kept falling through the air a long time, till at last he alighted
in the midst of a thick tree, the leaves and tender boughs of which
so broke his fall, that, though stunned and breathless, he escaped
without material injury, and after lying a while, came to himself
again. But what was his pleasure and surprise, to find himself in the
very tree which contained his nest. “Ah!” said he, “my dear native
place and peaceful home! if ever I am again tempted to leave you,
may I undergo a second time all the miseries and dangers from
which I have now so wonderfully escaped.”
The Mask of Nature, p. 25.

EVENING II.
 ON THE MARTEN.

“Look up, my dear,” said his papa to Little William, “at those
birds’nests above the chamber-windows, beneath the eaves of the
house. Some, you see, are just begun—nothing but a little clay stuck
against the wall. Others are half finished; and others are quite built
—close and tight—leaving nothing but a small hole for the birds to
come in and go out at.”
“What are they?” said William.
“They are martens’ nests,” replied his father; “and there you see the
owners. How busily they fly backward and forward, bringing clay and
dirt in their bills, and laying it upon their work, forming it into shape
with their bills and feet! The nests are built very strong and thick,
like a mud wall, and are lined with feathers to make a soft bed for
the young. Martens are a kind of swallows. They feed on flies, gnats,
and other insects; and always build in towns and villages about the
houses. People do not molest them, for they do good rather than
harm, and it is very amusing to view their manners and actions. See
how swiftly they skim through the air in pursuit of their prey! In the
morning they are up by daybreak, and twitter about your window
while you are asleep in bed; and all day long they are upon the
wing, getting food for themselves and their young. As soon as they
have caught a few flies, they hasten to their nests, pop into the
hole, and feed their little ones. I’ll tell you a story about the great
care they take of their young. A pair of martens once built their nest
in a porch; and when they had young ones, it happened that one of
them climbing up to the hole before he was fledged, fell out, and,
lighting upon the stones, was killed. The old birds, perceiving this
accident, went and got short bits of strong straw, and stuck them
with mud, like palisades, all round the hole of the nest, in order to
keep the other little ones from tumbling after their poor brother.”
“How cunning that was!” cried William.
“Yes,” said his father; “and I can tell you another story of their
sagacity, and also of their disposition to help one another. A saucy
cock-sparrow (you know what impudent rogues they are!) had got
into a marten’s nest while the owner was abroad; and when he
returned, the sparrow put his head out of the hole and pecked at the
marten with open bill, as he attempted to enter his own house. The
poor marten was sadly provoked at this injustice, but was unable by
his own strength to right himself. So he flew away and gathered a
number of his companions, who all came with bits of clay in their
bills, with which they plastered up the hole of the nest, and kept the
sparrow in prison, who died miserably for want of food and air.”
“He was rightly served,” said William.
“So he was,” rejoined his papa. “Well; I have more to say about the
sagacity of these birds. In autumn, when it begins to be cold
weather, the other swallows assemble upon the roofs of high
buildings, and prepare for their departure to a warmer country; for
as all the insects here die in the winter, they would have nothing to
live on if they were to stay. They take several short flights in flocks
round and round, in order to try their strength, and then on some
fine calm day, they set out together for a long journey southward,
over sea and land, to a very distant country.”
“But how do they find their way?” said William.
“We say,” answered his father, “that they are taught by instinct; that
is, God has implanted in their minds a desire of travelling at the
season which he knows to be proper, and has also given them an
impulse to take the right road. They steer their course through the
wide air directly to the proper spot. Sometimes, however, storms and
contrary winds meet them and drive the poor birds about till they
are quite spent and fall into the sea, unless they happen to meet
with a ship, on which they can light and rest themselves. The
swallows from this country are supposed to go as far as the middle
of Africa to spend the winter, where the weather is always warm,
and insects are to be met with all the year. In spring they take
another long journey back again to these northern countries.
Sometimes, when we have fine weather very early, a few of them
come too soon; for when it changes to frost and snow again, the
poor creatures are starved for want of food, or perish from the cold.
Hence arises the proverb,
‘One swallow does not make a summer.’

But when a great many of them are come, we may be sure that
winter is over, so that we are always very glad to see them again.
The martens find their way back over a great length of sea and land
to the very same villages and houses where they were bred. This
has been discovered by catching some of them, and marking them.
They repair their old nests, or build new ones, and then set about
laying eggs and hatching their young. Pretty things! I hope you will
never knock down their nests, or take their eggs or young ones! for,
as they come such a long way to visit us, and lodge in our houses
without fear, we ought to use them kindly.”
 MOUSE, LAPDOG, AND MONKEY.—A Fable.

A poor little mouse, being half starved, ventured one day to steal
from behind the wainscot while the family were at dinner, and,
trembling all the while, picked up a few crumbs which were
scattered on the ground. She was soon observed, however;
everybody was immediately alarmed; some called for the cat; others
took up whatever was at hand, and endeavoured to crush her to
pieces; and the poor terrified animal was driven round the room in
an agony of terror. At length, however, she was fortunate enough to
gain her hole, where she sat panting with fatigue. When the family
were again seated, a lapdog and a monkey came into the room. The
former jumped into the lap of his mistress, fawned upon every one
of the children, and made his court so effectually, that he was
rewarded with some of the best morsels of the entertainment. The
monkey, on the other hand, forced himself into notice by his
grimaces. He played a thousand little mischievous tricks, and was
regaled, at the appearance of the dessert, with plenty of nuts and
apples. The unfortunate little mouse, who saw from her hiding-place
everything that passed, sighed in anguish of heart, and said to
herself, “Alas! how ignorant was I, to imagine that poverty and
distress were sufficient recommendations to the charity of the
opulent. I now find, that whoever is not master of fawning and
buffoonery, is but ill qualified for a dependant, and will not be
suffered even to pick up the crumbs that fall from the table.”
ANIMALS AND THEIR COUNTRIES.

O’er Afric’s sand the tawny lion stalks:

On Phasis’ banks the graceful pheasant walks:
The lonely eagle builds on Kilda’s shore:
Germania’s forests feed the tusky boar:
From Alp to Alp the sprightly ibex bounds:
With peaceful lowings Britain’s isle resounds:
The Lapland peasant o’er the frozen meer
Is drawn in sledges by the swift raindeer:
The river-horse and scaly crocodile
Infest the reedy banks of fruitful Nile:
Dire dipsas hiss o’er Mauritania’s plain:
And seals and spouting whales sport in the northern Main.
 THE MASK OF NATURE.

Who is this beautiful Virgin that approaches clothed in a robe of light

green? She has a garland of flowers on her head, and flowers spring
up wherever she sets her foot. The snow, which covered the fields,
and the ice, which was in the rivers, melt away when she breathes
upon them. The young lambs frisk about her, and the birds warble in
their little throats to welcome her coming; and when they see her,
they begin to choose their mates, and to build their nests. Youths
and maidens have you seen this beautiful Virgin? If you have, tell
me who she is, and what is her name.
Who is this that cometh from the south, thinly clad in a light
transparent garment; her breath is hot and sultry; she seeks the
refreshment of the cool shade; she seeks the clear streams, and
crystal brooks, to bathe her languid limbs? The brooks and rivulets
fly from her, and are dried up at her approach. She cools her
parched lips with berries, and the grateful acid of all fruits,—the
seedy melon, the sharp apple, and the red pulp of the juicy cherry,
which are poured out plentifully around her. The tanned haymakers
welcome her coming; and the sheepshearer, who clips the fleeces off
his flock with his sounding shears. When she cometh let me lie
under the thick shade of a spreading beach-tree—let me walk with
her in the early morning, when the dew is yet upon the grass—let
me wander with her in the soft twilight, when the shepherd shuts his
fold, and the star of evening appears. Who is she that cometh from
the south? Youths and maidens, tell me, if you know, who she is,
and what is her name.
Who is he that cometh with sober pace, stealing upon us unawares?
His garments are red with the blood of the grape, and his temples
are bound with a sheaf of ripe wheat. His hair is thin and begins to
fall, and the auburn is mixed with mournful gray. He shakes the
brown nuts from the tree. He winds the horn, and calls the hunters
to their sport. The gun sounds:—the trembling partridge and the
beautiful pheasant flutter, bleeding in the air, and fall dead at the
sportsman’s feet. Who is he that is crowned with a wheat-sheaf?
Youths and maidens, tell me, if you know, who he is, and what is his
name.
Who is he that cometh from the north, clothed in furs and warm
wool? He wraps his cloak close about him. His head is bald; his
beard is made of sharp icicles. He loves the blazing fire high piled
upon the hearth, and the wine sparkling in the glass. He binds
skates to his feet, and skims over the frozen lakes. His breath is
piercing and cold, and no little flower dares to peep above the
surface of the ground, when he is by. Whatever he touches turns to
ice. If he were to stroke you with his cold hand, you would be quite
stiff and dead, like a piece of marble. Youths and maidens, do you
see him? He is coming fast upon us, and soon he will be here. Tell
me, if you know, who he is, and what is his name.
 THE FARMYARD JOURNAL.

“DEAR TOM:—

“Since we parted at the breaking up I have been for most of the time at a pleasant
farm in Hertfordshire, where I have employed myself in rambling about the
country and assisting, as well as I could, in the work going on at home and in the
fields. On wet days, and in the evenings, I have amused myself with keeping a
journal of all the great events that have happened among us; and hoping that,
when you are tired of the bustle of your busy town, you may receive some
entertainment from comparing our transactions with yours, I have copied out for
your perusal, one of the days in my memorandum-book.
“Pray, let me know in return what you are doing, and believe me,

“Your very affectionate friend,

“Hazel Farm.”

“Richard Markwell.”
 JOURNAL.
June 10th. Last night we had a dreadful alarm. A violent scream was
heard from the henroost; the geese all set up a cackle, and the dogs
barked. Ned, the boy who lies over the stable, jumped up, and ran
into the yard, when he observed a fox galloping away with a chicken
in his mouth, and the dogs in full chase after him. They could not
overtake him, and soon returned. Upon further examination, the
large white cock was found lying on the ground, all bloody, with his
comb torn almost off, and his feathers all ruffled, and the speckled
hen and three chickens lay dead beside him. The cock recovered,
but appeared terribly frightened. It seems that the fox had jumped
over the garden-hedge, and then crossing part of the yard behind
the straw, had crept into the henroost through a broken pale. John
the carpenter was sent for, to make all fast, and prevent the like
mischief again.
Early this morning the brindled cow was delivered of a fine bull-calf.
Both are likely to do well. The calf is to be fattened for the butcher.
The duck-eggs that were sat upon by the old black hen, were
hatched this day, and the ducklings all directly ran into the pond, to
the great terror of the hen, who went round and round, clucking
with all her might in order to call them out, but they did not regard
her. An old drake took the little ones under his care, and they swam
about very merrily.
As Dolly this morning was milking the new cow that was bought at
the fair, she kicked with her hind legs, and threw down the milk-pail,
at the same time knocking Dolly off her stool into the dirt. For this
offence the cow was sentenced to have her head fastened to the
rack, and her legs tied together.
A kite was observed to hover a long while over the yard with an
intention of carrying off some of the young chickens, but the hens
called their broods together under their wings, and the cocks put
themselves in order of battle, so that the kite was disappointed. At
length, one chicken, not minding its mother, but straggling
heedlessly to a distance, was descried by the kite, who made a
sudden swoop, and seized it in his talons. The chicken cried out, and
the cocks and hens all screamed; when Ralph, the farmer’s son, who
saw the attack, snatched up a loaded gun, and just as the kite was
flying off with his prey, fired and brought him dead to the ground,
along with the poor chicken, who was killed in the fall. The dead
body of the kite was nailed up against the wall, by way of a warning
to his wicked comrades.
In the forenoon we were alarmed with strange noises approaching
us, and looking out we saw a number of people with frying-pans,
warming-pans, tongs, and pokers, beating, ringing, and making all
possible din. We soon discovered them to be our neighbours of the
next farm, in pursuit of a swarm of bees which was hovering in the
air over their heads. The bees at length alighted on the tall pear-tree
in our orchard, and hung in a bunch from one of the boughs. A
ladder was got, and a man ascending, with gloves on his hands, and
an apron tied over his head, swept them into a hive which was
rubbed on the inside with honey and sweet herbs. But as he was
descending, some bees, which had got under his gloves, stung him
in such a manner, that he hastily threw down the hive, upon which
the greater part of the bees fell out, and began in a rage to fly
among the crowd, and sting all whom they lit upon. Away
scampered the people, the women shrieking, the children roaring;
and poor Adam, who had held the hive, was assailed so furiously,
that he was obliged to throw himself on the ground, and creep
under the gooseberry-bushes. At length, the bees began to return to
the hive, in which the queen-bee had remained; and after a while,
all being quietly settled, a cloth was thrown over it, and the swarm
was carried home.
About noon, three pigs broke into the garden, where they were
rioting upon the carrots and turnips, and doing a great deal of
mischief by trampling the beds and rooting up the plants with their