Chapter V: Front Matter (5)

“The children,” replied Mrs. Frog, “are just as dear and sweet as they can live; and growing? You never saw the like! Why, they are perfect Jonah’s gourds, one would think, to see how they grow. And they are just as bad! Not mean, you know, but just mischievous and into everything. They run me wild, at times. But with all the trouble they give us, what would life be without them? Dear me! This would be a sad place without children. I needn’t ask how you are,” continued Mrs. Frog, “because your looks speak for themselves and tell the story of your good health and happiness. How are the dear children and Mr. Rabbit? I suppose he is like my old man, grumbledy and fussy, but just as good as he can be. I hope he will come in before I leave because I want to see him.”

There was an undertone of sadness in the forced mirth of Mrs. Rabbit’s voice as she replied: “The children are all well. Now and then one of them gets sick but it is only for a little while and it amounts to nothing. Mr. Rabbit has gone to mill with a turn of corn so that I may have flour to make bread for Sunday dinner. We usually have a good deal of company on Sunday.”

Mrs. Rabbit said this with the faintest suggestion of vanity, and then continued: “I am sure you must be famished after your long trip across the lake. Dear me, how I wish I could swim.” (Mrs. Rabbit was only too sincere in this.)

“Spread this mullein leaf over your dress to protect it. What a pretty dress you have and it is so becoming to you. I always did like green. Your appetite must provide the relish for what I have to set before you, as I have only scraps to offer and it would keep you too long waiting to cook something fresh. Somebody once said something in praise of a dinner of herbs; but for my part, I would prefer something else.”

Mrs. Frog spread the mullein leaf over her lap and fell to with much energy, but her thoughts were on her dress, of which she was very proud. “I am glad you like my dress,” she said. “I like it very much. I got it at a bargain, too, because I bought the goods by the quantity and made dresses of the same material for all children and had quite a lot left for mending. Children are so hard on clothes. This dress like all the rest does not fit me. I suppose I must have an awful figure”—Mrs. Frog said this, but did not mean a word of it; she was really proud of her fine figure—“and the dressmakers never fit me. It is all right around the neck but, you see, it is much too tight and binding across the bust and it is not full enough about the hips; while the waist is baggy—it is so loose, and,—dear me! if I wore corsets it would look like a meal sack on a hoe handle, on me.”

Mrs. Frog asked: “What is the news over this way?”
]

Mrs. Rabbit could not see the defects mentioned and concluded they were imaginary. People frequently differ in opinion.

The conversation turned to general topics and Mrs. Frog asked: “What is the news over this way?”

Said Mrs. Rabbit: “We never hear anything in this out-of-the-way place. It is so quiet. The overflow has caused some suffering and one of Mr. Fox’s sons, who had been stealing a farmer’s chickens in the clearing, was killed the other night and his skin is going to be worn by the farmer’s daughter next winter to keep her neck and shoulders warm. Mr. Bear’s brother, who had been killing and eating the farmer’s calves in the canebrake, was caught in a trap and shot dead. His skin is stretched on the door of the farmer’s barn and his body is hung up in the smokehouse near by. Mr. Woodpecker brought this news to us and warned us to be on our guard because there are so many hungry animals abroad. I am afraid to let the children out of my sight.”

“Well, well!” exclaimed Mrs. Frog. “That is too bad! But you know,” continued Mrs. Frog, glancing furtively at her reflection in the mirror and comparing her appearance with the appearance of Mrs. Rabbit, the result of which seemed to please her, “you know the way of the transgressor is hard. But really I must go as it is getting late.”

Mrs. Frog jumped up and made ready to take her departure, taking at the same time a mental inventory of everything in the house.

Mrs. Rabbit begged her to stay longer, assured her it was quite early and that she had plenty of time to reach home, and reproached her for hurrying off. Mrs. Rabbit accompanied Mrs. Frog to the end of the path through the briar patch and out into the opening on the bank of the lake.

“You must come and see me again, soon,” said Mrs. Rabbit. “Come early and spend the day and bring the children and I will keep mine home from school and we will have a nice time.”

“I am coming right soon. You cannot keep me away because I enjoy these visits hugely. I am sorry I did not see Mr. Rabbit and the dear children. Now, I will not take no. You must come to see me soon; you must.” Mrs. Frog was very emphatic.

“I’m coming before long,” said Mrs. Rabbit. “I’m coming, sure. I would have been over before this but I cannot take a short cut across the lake, like you, but must go around. And, since his son was killed, Mr. Fox lives up at this end of the lake, which makes me go the long way, around the lower end. And getting through the switch-cane is a job, I tell you. When I brought home the coffee I borrowed from you it took me until evening to make the trip. Mr. Bear has plenty of paths through the switch-cane, but they run all which ways and you are coming home half the time when you think you are going; but there is no way out of it unless you could fly over it as Mr. Jaybird does when he goes over to the deadening to tote down fire-wood for the devil on Friday mornings, and the Cotton-tail family cannot fly nor even jump like the Jackrabbit family. But I’ll manage to get there soon.”

They shook hands and kissed and Mrs. Frog plunged into the lake with a ker-plunk and swimming gaily out a distance turned around and said:

“You must come soon.”

“I will, and you must come soon.”

Mrs. Rabbit watched her guest depart and when out of hearing almost hissed: “Horrid thing! I don’t see what brings her here. I wish Mr. Moccasin-snake or Mr. Hawk would come along and catch her. She just came here to show that green dress because she knew neither myself nor my children have a stitch to wear but these old grey gowns trimmed with fur, and here it is the middle of summer.”

Mrs. Rabbit returned home just as Mr. Rabbit, who had been to mill with a turn of corn to have ground into flour to make bread for Sunday dinner, turned the corner.

MRS. FROG RETURNS HOME.

Mrs. Frog swam rapidly over the glassy surface and she noticed that a golden pathway led from where she was to the sun that hung low in the west at the other end of the lake. This narrow pathway she could not cross, which alarmed her, as she fancied she was held fast by it, and could make no headway. The ripples caused by her efforts broke this golden mirror into many sparkling fragments; but, farther away, it lay undisturbed and placid. On looking at the trees the other side of her she saw that she was making excellent progress and that, instead of the sun’s pathway detaining her, it was following her. Her alarm gave way to gladness at being accompanied by such a splendid convoy—people sometimes fret over the slow progress which they think they are making, when, in reality, they are traveling very fast. She eluded Mr. Hawk and Mr. Moccasin-snake by diving when near the shore and then hurrying up the bank to the door of her house. On looking back she discovered that the sun’s bright pathway did not follow her but remained below on the lake—there are places into which things that we prize will not accompany us.

On entering she found confusion and disorder. The dishes on which the cold midday meal had been served lay spread on the table. The Baby Frogs were unkempt and disheveled and some of them were crying. The youngest one had cried itself to sleep. Mr. Frog was a sight to behold. He was almost frantic and went about tripping over bits of furniture and clothing that were strewn on the floor. His face was inflamed and he greeted Mrs. Frog hoarsely with: “What on earth kept you so late? I thought you would never come! These children have set me almost crazy with their mischief and carrying-on. I wouldn’t put in another day like this for anything. You shouldn’t inflict on me such misery when I told you to be back before night.”

Mrs. Frog’s cheeriness, gained from her outing, was something abated; but she set about to right matters and put things in order. She reminded Mr. Frog that the sun had not yet set; but he did not hear, or feigned not to hear her. He went out and hopped down the way to Mr. Toad’s house, where he supped and talked about the coming election of a new king of the forest, which was growing smaller every year. Mr. Lion and Mr. Tiger and Mr. Wolf had gone away and it was reported that Mr. Bear intended moving farther West because his only brother was dead. Mr. Wildcat would be a candidate and so would Mr. Fox, but neither was admired.

Meantime Mrs. Frog busied herself about the house. The Baby Frogs came out from their hiding places where they had been driven, in terror, by their angry father. She dried their tears and dressed them for supper which she prepared. Deftly she put everything in place and restored order and soon smiles and laughter returned to her little ones. She waited supper until late and then told the Baby Frogs to eat and be ready to go to the concert in the marsh when Mr. Frog came. She ate nothing. After supper she waited until far into the night and one by one the Baby Frogs fell asleep and were put to bed. When all was still and the fire burned low she sat holding her Baby Frog that was considered “odd” on her knee. She wondered if it were very wrong in her to go away and enjoy herself as she had done when so much unhappiness resulted. The thought came to her that Mr. Frog did not love her else he would have reflected that the crosses and trials borne by him so impatiently for one day were her usual portion and that she had to bear them every day in the year and meet him pleasantly and with smiles in the evening or be charged with ill-temper and making home unpleasant. She hugged her Baby Frog that was considered “odd” closer to her. It had taken cold, because left to sleep without covering while she was away. Then she blamed herself and resolved never to go away again and fell to crying and upbraiding herself.

Very late at night or early in the morning Mr. Frog came home in great spirits. His countenance was beaming. He had tarried late at Mrs. Toad’s house and halted on the way home to hear the songs of Mr. Whippoorwill and Mr. Mocking-bird, and to see the fine display given by Mr. Fire-fly. When he found Mrs. Frog crying he scowled at her and said gruffly: “What’s the matter now? If gadding about has this effect on you, you had better stay at home and not tire yourself out traipsing around seeing people who care nothing for you.” Then he flung himself down to sleep.

Mrs. Frog, with her Baby Frog that was considered “odd” held close in her arms, also went to bed where her tears flowed in secret. She did not know the meaning of those tears; they came unbidden. She fancied she had done something very wrong and she fell asleep only when exhaustion came.

It is most unfortunate that those who make sacrifices for others are never noticed or given credit for them and that they are cruelly reproached when those sacrifices halt, temporarily, or wholly cease. It is most unfortunate that we inflict pain on those we love, in our thoughtlessness, and that they suffer this pain without always knowing its source.

EVERYBODY WHO IS ANYBODY.

Mr. Squirrel and Mrs. Squirrel were invited and were glad to accept.
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Mr. Peckerwood had been abroad early. Mrs. Rabbit was going to give a dining and had commissioned him to invite her friends. Mrs. Rabbit had baked up the entire turn of corn that Mr. Rabbit had taken to mill to provide for Sunday’s dinner. Mr. Squirrel and Mrs. Squirrel were invited and were glad to accept and promised to attend. Mr. and Mrs. Toad were invited but were compelled to decline. In discussing the matter among themselves Mrs. Toad observed: “We have lived long here in our own simple way and have never gone in society. It was a hard struggle for a time and no one thought of us or cared for us. We have always lived at peace with our neighbors and we now have their good will; but, because we have prospered, we have not changed our habits of life. We are old-fashioned and we would be out of place in grand society if it is as those who have been there picture it. Of course those present would be very kind to us and do what they could to make us feel at home; but their efforts would only make us sense the more keenly how unfitted we are for such company. We are unused to gaiety and fine things and we would be at a loss to know what to do and always fearful of making mistakes. We had better remain as we are and where we are. Here we know what to do and how to extract simple pleasure from our surroundings. There, everything would be new and strange and untoward.”

Mrs. Toad said these things not without an effort. In spite of her, she had a curiosity to see the fine sights in the upper and polite world.

Mr. Toad agreed with her and added: “They used to say every Toad, however ugly, had a precious jewel in its head. Of late years this has been disputed by the wise who call themselves scientists. You, my dear, at least, vindicate the truth of the older claim. You have in your head the precious jewel of sound sense and wise discretion.”

Mrs. Toad smiled and her desire to go vanished. The commendation of those we love is always conciliating and soothing.

Mr. and Mrs. Frog were invited and Mrs. Frog accepted for the entire family. She wanted Mr. Frog and the Baby Frogs to have a pleasant outing and she was flattered by the thought that green dresses and white stomachers would look uncommonly well. Frogs could not fly, but they could swim and dive, and that is something the birds of the air cannot do, she mused. She began at once preparing for the event.

Mr. Jaybird and Mrs. Jaybird were invited by mistake and they accepted instantly and Mrs. Jaybird flew over to Mrs. Magpie’s home and told her all about it and how she hated to go to the stupid function and be bored, as she knew she would be; but, as Everybody who is Anybody is to be there, she presumed she would have to attend. Mrs. Magpie received no invitation; neither did Mr. Magpie, but Mrs. Magpie flew about and told Everybody who is Nobody that _she_ would not attend such a meeting or mix in with such company, and Everybody who is Nobody commended her discrimination and solemnly declared that _she_ would not attend such a meeting or mix in such company.

Mr. Beaver and Mrs. Beaver were invited, and Mrs. Beaver said that she would attend to the R. S. V. P. later on. As soon as Mr. Peckerwood was out of sight she came out of her house and slapped the water with her flat tail, producing a sharp sound that could be heard a long distance. Mr. Beaver, who was cutting into convenient lengths a tree he had felled the day previous, so that he could roll it down the bank and use it in strengthening the dam in front of his house, plunged into the water and dived down to the door of his stronghold in alarm, thinking serious danger impended and that the noise was the usual warning given by the sentinels. He was met by Mrs. Beaver, whose face was lit up and smiling, and who exclaimed: “What do you think! We have been invited to a dining at Mrs. Rabbit’s and we are sure to have a good time. Everybody who is Anybody will be there, and I don’t think we will have to take a back seat for any of them. It is rather warm for furs, but it is late in the season, and—furs are always furs.”

Mrs. Beaver was radiant and enthusiastic and she looked proudly at her sleek coat, from which the water had almost disappeared.

Mr. Beaver looked at her for a while before he spoke, loth to lessen the pleasure she found in anticipating so great an event, and then he kindly but firmly said: “I do not like to differ from you. I dislike to. Nevertheless, I do not think it is wise in us to attend Mr. Rabbit’s dining. It is flattering to be invited to the tables of the great, but it is unwise to accept attentions that cannot be returned. To return such a compliment we are in no way prepared. To accept it would put us under an obligation that we could not discharge, and we would be carrying the burden of a debt we could not pay. Mr. Rabbit is wealthy. He has a broad briar patch in which he is safe, and into which not even Mr. Rattlesnake can enter. He has an abundance of clover and sweet grasses and tender buds at his door and his home is spacious. But these he neither created, produced nor builded. They were given him, and he has no other interest in them save possession. With us, what we have we produced by our own efforts. We cut down and hauled trees and fashioned houses and dams. We are our own architect and builder. Unlike some animals who claim to be much wiser than we and who design and build houses for other people, while going homeless themselves, we provided for ourselves and what we have is our own. So long as we guard it and continue our custom of healthy, hard work, we will be happy. As soon as we leave our narrow sphere we will meet trouble. Our bodies are covered with rich fur that is seasonable enough, but our tails are covered with scales, and strange company would not know how to take us. They could not make flesh of one and fish of the other.” As he said this Mr. Beaver felt much pleased with his own fluent rhetoric.

Mrs. Beaver, who had listened glumly, was silenced but not convinced. She puffed up and said nothing. Her heart was set on going to the dining, and no argument could change her. And the misery of it all was her silence. Had she said something or done something; had she talked back, or thrown a billet of wood at Mr. Beaver, it would have been a relief to him. But she merely _looked_ and said nothing, and this was killing.

Mr. Beaver returned moodily to his work, feeling that his philosophy was weak and useless, and that there are times when it is better to be unwisely happy than to be unhappily wise.

Mr. Chipmunk and Mrs. Chipmunk were invited. Mr. Swamp Rabbit and Mrs. Swamp Rabbit were invited. Mr. Otter and Mrs. Otter were invited. Mr. Mink and Mrs. Mink were invited. Mr. Groundhog and Mrs. Groundhog were invited; but Mr. Groundhog excused himself, saying that he was afraid of losing his shadow and becoming like the unfortunate Peter Schlemihl in the story. Mr. and Mrs. Kildee, Mr. and Mrs. Redbird, Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow, Mr. and Mrs. Dove, Mr. and Mrs. Quail were invited and Mr. and Mrs. Humming-bird promised to look in on the company. Mr. and Mrs. Thrush were invited, but announced that they could not sing, as they were under contract, unless paid for it, or unless their manager, Mr. Wildcat, was bidden as a guest, which, of course, could not be thought of. All members of the Mocking-bird family were invited, and Mr. Mocking-bird promised to bring his music, providing Mr. and Mrs. Linnet were not of the party. Mr. Parrot and Mrs. Parrot and Mr. Goose and Mrs. Goose were on the list to be invited; but they were later removed for fear the one would repeat everything that was said and the other would talk and gabble so much that nothing could be said. Mr. Rabbit suggested inviting Mr. Stork and Mrs. Stork, old friends of the family, but Mrs. Rabbit said that while they would be welcome as far as _she_ was concerned, she knew that many of her friends who go much in society would object.

On the day appointed all the guests attended and it was a goodly company.

EVERYBODY WHO IS NOBODY.

As the invited guests arrived, some coming by water, some by land, and some through the air—Mr. Squirrel and Mrs. Squirrel came through the tops of the trees, sometimes jumping long distances from the limbs of one to the limbs of another—Everybody who is Nobody crowded around the entrance to the briar patch. Everybody who is _No_body had no tickets of admission, but they surrounded the guests, and would have crowded in, uninvited, were it not that Mr. ’Possum, with a large detachment of his kinsmen, acted as policemen and drove them back. In spite of this and in spite of the harsh means used to keep the crowd back, some of the guests were jostled, crushed and injured.

Mr. ’Possum acted as policeman and drove them back.
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Everybody who is _No_body retired a short distance to a little knoll that had been flung up by the uprooting of a great tree that had long since rotted away. Everybody who is _No_body was anxious to appear on the ground by mere accident; but Mr. Owl, who was looking on from a high tree, knew they were all impelled by the same motive.

Mr. Muskrat and Mrs. Muskrat concluded early in the day that they had opened more mussel shells than was really necessary, and that they might as well take a walk and enjoy a holiday. They were the first to climb to the top of the knoll, to dry their clothing, they said. Mr. Polecat and Mrs. Polecat, Mr. Porcupine and Mrs. Porcupine, Mr. Turtle and Mrs. Turtle, Mr. Weasel and Mrs. Weasel, Mr. Hawk and Mrs. Hawk, Mr. Gopher and Mrs. Gopher, and, in fact, Everybody who is Nobody was there. Mr. Buzzard and Mrs. Buzzard started on the way, but they were attracted by the odor arising from a carrion that lay rotting far out on the festering marsh. Mr. Rattlesnake and Mrs. Rattlesnake remained a short distance away—there are exclusive folk in society where Everybody is Nobody—and Mr. Rattlesnake made the buttons on his tail sound like a fire of musketry when things did not suit him. Mr. Magpie and Mrs. Magpie were dressed early and ready to go, but Mrs. Magpie began gossiping with Mr. Crane, who had just swallowed Mr. Garter-snake and prevented _him_ from going, and she forgot all about it until too late. Mr. Fox approached very cautiously to where he could hear and to where he could not be seen. Mr. Tarantula blundered in, but, discovering his mistake, retired at once.

When all were assembled, Mrs. Muskrat observed that she was glad that _she_ was not in the briar patch at the dining. She knew she could have been invited if she had put herself in the way of it as some other folks have done; but she had no use for Mrs. Rabbit. Mrs. Rabbit put on a great many airs. She considered herself better than other people. She shouldn’t forget that she married Mr. Rabbit, who is old enough to be her father, for his property, and that, when she married him, she had nothing but the clothes on her back. And since her marriage she has been given but one new dress a year in spite of all her wealth. Mrs. Muskrat averred that she believed in taking people for what they are and not for what their ancestors were, and for which they should be in no way held accountable; still, it was commonly known that Mrs. Rabbit’s grandmother hired out.

Mrs. Porcupine ventured to say that it might be well enough to be an old man’s darling, if he had money enough; but she did not believe in becoming the slave of a house full of little ones, and the way Mrs. Rabbit was surrounding herself with olive branches was positively scandalous, and the talk of the entire forest.

Mr. Porcupine had been listening to the talk, and knowing that he had to agree with his wife, laughed immoderately and applauded loudly. Other animals have found it wise and expedient to do the same thing. In doing this his quills penetrated the fur coat of Mrs. Polecat, who indignantly exclaimed:

“Sir! I would have you remember in whose presence you find yourself. You should select a more willing target for your murderous weapons.”

“Ah, Mrs. Polecat,” said Mr. Porcupine, not knowing the injury he had done—some people never know the injury they do—“You possess a weapon and wield it so effectively that it is much more cruel and painful than is my poor quill. Mine is a sword stab, but there are torments and sufferings greater than sword stabs.”

As he said this, Mr. Porcupine thought it an uncommonly fine speech with an obvious meaning.

Mrs. Polecat was placated. Her anger was turned to pleasure. She, too, thought it an uncommonly fine speech, and fancied that it meant that her beauty was such as to inspire love and destroy the heart and peace of mind of those who saw her. There are people in this world who are always ready to take a veiled censure of a fault which they possess as a compliment to an assumed virtue which they do not possess.

Mrs. Porcupine frowned and scowled. She knew what Mr. Porcupine meant, but she frowned and scowled because Mrs. Polecat had misunderstood it and had taken it as a compliment.

Mrs. Turtle, who had been waiting for a chance to speak, said she didn’t see how any one could go about without reasonable protection. For her part, she was not afraid of Mr. Porcupine’s quills, and she invited him to come as close to her as he desired.

Mrs. Porcupine frowned and scowled again, and no doubt a pitched battle would have ensued, had not Mr. Rattlesnake sounded an alarm, and slipped away under a huge rock.

Just then two hunters, with their dogs, rode up, and—bang! bang!—Mr. Porcupine and Mrs. Muskrat fell over dead. The younger hunter took out after Mr. Polecat and Mrs. Polecat, but he was warned back by the elder, who said that, like some people, the Polecats had methods of assault against which there is no defense excepting distance, and that the part of wisdom is to keep well away from them.

Mr. Turtle and Mrs. Turtle, in spite of their strong armor, were captured and hung by whang leather thongs to the horns of the hunters’ saddles. Their heads were battered, but of course they did not die until put in the soup-pot the next day. Mr. Hawk and Mrs. Hawk flew away and the rest of the animals escaped with more or less injury, one way and another, with the exception of Mr. Weasel, who was killed and his skin converted into a purse.

Mrs. Rabbit put on a great many airs.
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It was many and many a long day before Everybody who is Nobody met again to criticise their neighbors. It sometimes requires a great catastrophe to teach a valuable lesson; but, once learned, this lesson is not soon forgotten.

MRS. RABBIT’S DINING.

Mrs. Rabbit’s home was a delight to see when the guests arrived. Mrs. Rabbit was a trifle tired and apprehensive. It was her first formal function and she did not know how many “regrets” were in store for her. (Some she knew would come, but others whom she desired to lionize gave her concern. Their absence would mean disappointment and humiliation. If some benign power would remove all the empty chairs from around the table of a hostess who has made elaborate preparations for the entertainment of guests who do not come, and who is not wholly certain of her approaches, some of the bitterest sorrows would be removed from earth and many a heart-break would be escaped. Such a spectacle, presented to a hostess, not only stuns and stings, but corrodes.)

Mrs. Rabbit was not long in suspense. Her guests came, every one of them, came in a crowd, and each one had something to tell about the escape from Everybody who is Nobody at the entrance to the briar patch, all of which pleased Mrs. Rabbit greatly.

Mr. Toad and Mrs. Toad were not expected. Mr. Beaver and Mrs. Beaver were not missed. They were working people, and working people are seldom much sought after until they cease working and become representatives of working people.

Mr. Peckerwood was seen coming from far away across the lake. He would soar high up in the air, remain poised an instant, and then plunge headlong downward until near the earth, when he would gracefully glide upward again. He moved as a light vessel moves across high billows between which there are great troughs or valleys, now on the crest of the wave, now in the deep chasm. He came on with a freedom and a swing, describing a series of parabolas that were beautiful to behold.

On arriving he informed the party that an important engagement, he was sorry to say, prevented him from remaining; but he would beat the drum on a hollow tree from time to time to let them know where he was in the forest.

Every one was sorry, and Mr. Otter remarked that he always noticed that those who take the most active part in movements for good, and who do most to bring these movements to a splendid result, seldom enjoy the benefits and pleasures of their efforts. They sow and others garner. They build and others occupy. They provide and others enjoy.

After a short silence Mr. Mink said that he had observed the same thing, and, according to his way of thinking, it is small compensation to see that those who take the most active part in movements for evil, and who do the most to bring these movements to a climax, always escape before the explosion comes and leave their followers and dupes to suffer the penalties.

This is all that Mr. Mink and Mr. Otter said until time to bid their hosts good-bye, and it is a great deal for either Mr. Mink or Mr. Otter to say at any time, and especially on this subject, which, perhaps, had better not be discussed on so joyous an occasion.

The evening was a pleasant one. Everyone present was delighted. Mr. Mocking-bird sang his sweetest. He had no rival and few capable critics, and he had the musical program all to himself. Mr. Frog thought and felt secretly that he could furnish a pleasing variation with one of his favorite bass solos, and Mrs. Frog was sure that if her Baby Frog of the soprano voice were given musical advantages she would take the shine out of any singer in the forest; but they were both too well bred to say anything. Mr. Frog, indeed, chimed in with his bass once or twice, with an stave or two, on the last line of the stanza, which he fancied helped matters along famously; but, as he led the applause by crying out “Bravo,” he excited no comment.

The dinner was bountiful and of such variety as to furnish each guest that which he or she most desired—from great fish for Mr. Otter and Mrs. Otter to blooming hollyhocks for Mr. Humming-bird and Mrs. Humming-bird. Curious delicacies were served in tiny buttercups and in pale-tinted morning-glories that had been kept in the dark and had not closed their eyes. Corn was provided for Mr. Jaybird and Mrs. Jaybird from “volunteer” stalks that grew in the farmer’s cotton patch near by. Assorted nuts of excellent flavor were furnished Mr. Squirrel and Mrs. Squirrel, and those who liked this kind of food.

Mrs. Rabbit laid great store by her bread, of which she was very proud. It was not sliced and laid within reach of her guests, as is usually done. Mrs. Rabbit put her left arm around a huge loaf, which she pressed firmly against her breast and, with a knife in the other hand moved about from guest to guest, cutting and serving each in turn with a generous piece. As each guest politely praised her cooking and housewifery her face beamed with pleasure, and she forgot all about her old grey gown with its fur trimmings. The pleasure she felt she communicated to those around her, and all were supremely happy until a becoming hour for departure.

The guests went their several ways after many good-byes and promises to meet again, and each was in the best of spirits. The day was long remembered in the forest.

When the guests had gone and the little ones had cuddled down in bed Mrs. Rabbit confessed that while she was tired, she had never enjoyed herself as much in her life and, she added, “I never thought our neighbors were such charming people. They all seemed delighted and happy.”

Mr. Rabbit had eaten bountifully and was somewhat drowsy and his philosophy may not have been wholly sound. Nevertheless, he said with much gravity and deliberation: “Happiness is what the learned ones call a personal equation. It rests largely with ourselves. Those who selfishly seek it never find it. Those who give it to others find their own store increasing in exact proportion to the amount they dispense. Happiness is like the purse of Fortunatus that could never be emptied. You were proud of your bread and with reason. It proved that you could do one thing well and whoso does one thing well is master of many things. When you sought to make others happy you found no trouble. In making others happy lies concealed the secret of our own happiness. Your neighbors have not changed only as you have changed them. The change is in yourself. Whenever you feel morose, despondent and unhappy, set about to do some one some good and joy will return; because doing good to others is life’s chief luxury, and it never palls.”

By this time Mrs. Rabbit was nodding, but Mr. Rabbit did not notice it, so interested was he in his own wisdom and so charmed by his own eloquence. After a slight pause they both retired to enjoy a sweet and refreshing sleep.

SUNSHINE

CONDUCTED BY THE EDITOR IN CHIEF.

GREETING.

Hope leads the builders of this magazine to believe that its explosion can be prevented by filling it with sugar instead of dynamite.

We propose to gather our cane mostly from Southern fields and run it through Southern cane mills and sweeten as much of the world as possible from Southern sugar barrels; but of course our doors are open to Northern bees, Eastern butterflies, and Western humming-birds, and suckers from everywhere.

We believe that sugar is better for the world than dynamite, and we propose to barrel it in bulk so that every boy and girl who loves to read a sweet story may dive into our columns with both hands and shout as the boy did when he got into the sure enough sugar hogshead, “O, for a thousand tongues!” so that every old literary bug who sighs for the sweeter side of life may gambol among our granulated tropes and pulverized similes and dream that he is the beautifulest ant in the sugar bowl.

The journalistic market is glutted with explosives, it is overstocked with poisoned arrows. We believe in the philosophy that “More flies are caught with sugar than with vinegar.”

But while this magazine shall be a colossal sugar lump, yet its management has a whole squadron of torpedo boats, and a huge quiver of arrows for all the enemies of the South and a stupendous tank of vinegar as large as all the tanks of the Standard Oil Company for the spiteful spiders and blue-bottle flies of sectional journalism. But these weapons shall never be used so long as sugar will melt in the mouths of men and persuade unrighteousness to bridle its tongue.

With these sweet sentiments upon our lips we stand on the tallest tower of our castle in the air and with our politest bow toss a large sugar lump of greeting to every one who is wise enough to subscribe for BOB TAYLOR’S MAGAZINE.

Fly in Your Own Firmament.

When downy-lipped youth first begins to peep through the knothole in the temple of knowledge, he is the happiest of all mortals because his vanity is unbridled and free.

He knows it all. When he “orates” on commencement day he robs the gardens of rhetoric and twines their choicest flowers about the beautiful, but hollow and flimsy columns of his speech. He misquotes the classic poets and taxes the old philosophers with things they never said. He twists the tail of history, strangles science, and spouts wisdom never dreamed of by Solomon. His impassioned sentences are chains of gold with blazing diamonds strung, and his tropes and similes cavort like flaming meteors athwart the intellectual heavens. But after he leaves the classic halls of college, and after a few hard bumps against the rock walls of reality, and a few hard falls on the ice pond of experience, his self-conceit springs a leak, his immense learning oozes out, and his dream of kinship with the gods vanishes into the limbo of the forever forgotten like a sweet scent before a high wind.

His vanity is un’ridled and free.
]

And so runs the endless story of callow youth—a comedy of errors reenacted by each successive generation, in whose quips and cranks and boyish antics we see ourselves repeated as in a mirror, and we only laugh and wish that youth might last forever—we laugh and enjoy its beautiful vanities.

But our laughter melts into sighs as we recall the Persian poet’s plaintive lines:

“Ah! that spring should vanish with the rose,
That youth’s sweet scented manuscript should close!”

Time but dissipates each rapturous dream, and the revelation of our ignorance comes with the experience of riper years. Only once are we the proud possessors of all knowledge and all wisdom, and this is in the dreamy days of life’s happy morning. And yet, we never lose our self-conceit as we advance in years; we only adjust our vanity to the knowledge we acquire. We learn how to dodge some of the jagged walls of trouble and to avoid some of the mud holes of calamity; but vanity still lures us on in myriad paths of folly. Its most dangerous form is that which conjures in men the delusion that they know _everything_, and that they can turn from one field of effort to another without disturbing their equilibrium and gather fruits and flowers with equal success from all alike. This is the snag upon which so many little kites get hung.

As no single honey-bee can rob all the flowers of the land, so no one mind can master all branches of knowledge. Nature has endowed humanity with different aptitudes for different lines of labor. Indeed, she seems to delight in infinite diversity. Ever true to this wonderful impulse of variation she confers on mankind intellectual gifts as multiform as her flowers—flinging them into the hovel as freely as into the palace.

A hard fall on the ice pond of experience.
]

One individual has the gift of speech, another the gift of thought. One talks without thinking, another thinks without talking. One man sees, hears and notes everything; another sees and hears, but notes nothing. He cannot recall whether he has been alive for the past hour or not; and if his wife asks him what manner of gown Mrs. So-and-so wore last night at the reception, he could not tell for the life of him whether she wore any gown at all. One touches business and it turns to gold; another touches it, and it turns to rags. One touches the button of politics, and the doors of office fly open with a national hymn in their hinges; another presses it, and the doors fly open to his competitor. One youth whispers a magical word into the listening ear of a laughing girl and lo! her little head of auburn curls falls upon his shoulder; another youth whispers the same word to the same girl and lo! his head falls into the sawdust! One fair maiden sings as gloriously as a lark in June skies; another thinks she sings, but doesn’t—she only screams, and her trills are a cross between a fife and a cane-mill as she twists her neck and walls her eyes like a dying swan.

But there is scarcely a human being under the sun who is not blessed with some special gift of mind for the achievement of success in some special field of endeavor.

A good old farmer and his wife had four sons, and they believed that three of them possessed talent which would some day make them great. But when they came to poor John, the youngest of the flock, they agreed that he was a natural born fool. Finally a sudden light beamed in the old man’s face and with melody in his voice he said: “Nancy, I can say one thing for John; he’s the best whistler that ever twisted wind into music—by gum.” Here was nature’s compensation for lack of brains—for John was endowed with a talent which is esteemed, in these modern days, as one of the rarest among men—a talent which might some day make John a sort of Eolian Orpheus whose slightest breath would open to him the door of fame; for have we not recently read in the public prints of a whistling artist in the person of a charming young woman who has taken the music loving world by storm and whistled herself into the choir of a rich and fashionable church?

How the hearts of the young male worshipers must thrill and palpitate when she puckers her pouting lips to join in the sacred anthem. It must be like the nectared melody of the nightingale dripping and tinkling from the heart of a puckered rose.

Many a dull and sluggish youth, blinded by vanity, is to-day frittering away the golden hours in some law college or medical school, who is totally incapable by birth of ever grasping or assimilating the principles of law or medicine, while under the leaf-fat of his stupid brain some talent may lie sleeping, which, if aroused and called into full play, might elevate him to the pedestal of glory as the champion whistler of the world.

The man of one talent, if he develops and uses it intelligently, is always the highest example of success, even in the humblest sphere. The bootblack in the street, who, by his masterful touch, makes your shoes reflect the sun, is as much an artist in his sphere and entitled to as much credit as the man who made the shoes. The difficulty is that we often rebel against Nature’s purpose, which if followed always leads to success.

It is an old saying that “Fortune is fickle,” but there is not much truth in the proverb. The trouble lies in the fact that human nature is fickle and full of vanity; and we dream ourselves into the belief that we can win applause in roles of life for which we have neither talent nor adaptation. This is vanity, and the logical result is—limbs of the law all leafless and briefless and weeping alone; business ventures dodging the sheriff and sighing for a lodge in some vast wilderness; medical aspiration hopeless and patientless in the valley of dry bones; literary spirit with broken wings and tail feathers gone; and political ambition with black eye and broken nose, sighing and singing wherever he goes:

“I am nobody’s darling,
Nobody cares for me.”

When a young man comes to choose a vocation in life let him buck-and-gag vanity and enter the field for which he is best adapted. Let him analyze and synthesize himself and approximate as nearly as possible the capacity of his mental powers. Let him study his own talent as he would study a book and when he has determined upon his calling let him pursue it without the shadow of turning, and he will surely win.

The Governor.

A good woman is the embodiment of man’s dream of the beautiful; a mean one is a perpetual nightmare. They are the two extremes of melody and discord, of wine and vinegar, of violet and volcano in every station in life. All men stand with uncovered heads in the presence of a good woman. Her prudence and modesty, her gentleness and purity, are her shields from the low and vulgar; they are the heralds of her virtue and innocence; they charm in her voice, they beam in her eyes, they are eloquent in her actions and mingle and shine in the graces of her life. She is the governor of every happy home and her throne is built of human hearts.

A mean woman revels in strife and in the anguish of those around her. She delights in the abuse of others and in mysterious actions that breed suspicion. Treason lurks in her very eyes, the tracks of treachery are in her every smile and her bosom cloaks a dagger.

A good woman often weeps and her soul is sometimes tossed with righteous indignation; but she knows how to pity and to forgive. Sometimes she is compelled to combat a wicked and self-willed husband, and to suffer the stings of his tyranny and injustice; but when her virtues and goodness assert themselves and the governor stamps her foot and demands her rights she can always subdue him and lead him like a lamb.

But let a mean woman be installed as governor of the household, and on the slightest provocation her eyes will flame with fury, an ashy pallor will mantle her funnel face and she will roar like an approaching cyclone; forked lightnings will leap from her frenzied tongue and strike everybody and everything for miles and miles around; her shivering husband is usually the victim, whether guilty or innocent,

And there’s nothing left, when the heavens clear,
But skin and hair in the atmosphere.

The chasm of calamity into which many an unwary lover falls in the leap of matrimony is his ignorance of the woman who takes this leap with him. She conjures him into the belief that she is an angel of light and worthy to govern the world, when in reality she is a ferocious feline from away back, a pussy of despair from the night’s Plutonian shore.

Forked lightnings leap from her frenzied tongue.
]

Many a good woman, on the other hand, is deceived and cajoled by her suitor into the faith that he is a saint on earth, a sweet spirit of prayer, and fit only for the companionship of the seraphim and cherubim, when, in fact, he is a carrion crow from far away, a beautiful buzzard from Paradise Bay.

Happiness follows in the footsteps of a good woman as the flowers follow in the footsteps of June; and laughter hand in hand with tears greets her every day. All the pure and beautiful ideals of the heart, all the chaste and tender emotions of the soul are her priceless jewels. Her life is a willing sacrifice, and she passes from the morning to the evening with blessings upon her lips and the light of peace and joy in her shining train. She is the star that eclipses every sun and dispels the darkness of every cloud. But it is hard to foretell results in the Monte Carlo of love. He who ventures there is playing a hazardous game and should not bet too high, for it is surely a game of chance. Sometimes hearts are trumps, alas, sometimes clubs! Infatuation often stacks the cards, the intoxication of overweening confidence sometimes dims the player’s eyes, and even what seems to be a winning hand may quickly lose the game. But blessed is the gambler in the perilous game of marriage who wins a good woman for she is the richest stake ever won by man in this world. She is the handmaid of the Lord, establishing his kingdom in the home and linking earth to heaven every day.

Without her, nations would fall and civilizations crumble; without her, all the suns and moons of love would darken and all the stars of hope forget to shine; without her, charity would lose its sweetness, mercy its tenderness and sentiment its very life; without her, the genius of Phidias and Praxiteles never would have glorified the marble; Raphael and Angelo never would have dreamed in immortal colors; Burns never would have written his sweetest lyrics of love, and the dreams of Shakespeare never would have blossomed into song; without her, home, happiness and family ties would be but mockeries and the Christian religion itself would perish among its worshipers.

The Lieutenant Governor.

The brightest stars in the crown of civilization are its pure and virtuous homes. They reflect the wealth, the power and the glory of the state and the nation. They are the culmination of man’s highest ideals of peace and love and perfect happiness beneath the stars that shine above him.

Within the hallowed walls of every home where children dwell, there is a commonwealth of prattling science and toddling art and mewling music in its mother’s arms. Dimpled genius, with heaven in his eyes, is playing around many a hearthstone to-day; and under many an humble roof love is rocking the cradle of a poet or an orator; heroes of the future are fighting cob battles in the barn yard and statesmen of the years to come are ruling republics and empires on the play ground of the public school or in the society hall of the university.

In every well regulated home the governor of each commonwealth wears dresses and the lieutenant governor wears pantaloons. The wife reigns supreme. Her scepter is her slipper, under whose swing and sway juvenile civilization often worms and squirms, firmly held across her lap face downward; and one shake of the scepter thoroughly subdues the lieutenant governor. ’Tis well! for what right has he to butt into policies of home rule and to stick his nose into the prerogatives of petticoat government?