Chapter V (2)

I had not been alive a day before I learned what heat and cold were. The sun disappeared, leaving my rock as cold as an iceberg. Having nothing to do, I began to move, and felt about my shoulders something I conceived must be intended for use. Stretching forth these little arms or wings with which Nature had endowed me (she has lived too long on her reputation of being a good mother, loving equally all her children), after prolonged efforts I at last succeeded in rolling from the top of my rock. Thus my first experience in life was, as you see, a fall, which I speedily resented by digging my beak into the unsympathetic soil. This only increased my pain, and led to reflection. “It is evident,” I said, “one ought to be careful about one’s first step in life, and to reflect well before moving.” I then inwardly pondered over my destiny as a Penguin, not that I had the faintest pretension to philosophy, only when one is forced to live, and one is not accustomed to do so, one must find out some rules of life.

“What is good?”

“What is evil?”

“What is life?”

“What is a Penguin?”

Before I could solve these questions, my eyelids closed in sleep.

III.

Hunger rudely awoke me! Forgetting my resolutions, strange as it may seem, I did not wait to inquire, “What is hunger?” but immediately proceeded to satisfy the craving by eating some shell-fish that {59} were yawning before me. I ought to have first indulged in a dissertation on the possible danger of following this ancient custom. My inexperience was punished, for by dint of eating too fast, I was nearly choked. I have no notion how I learned to eat, to drink, to walk, and move to right or left, measure distances with my eye, to know that all one sees is not one’s own; to come down and ascend, to swim, to fish, to sleep standing, to content myself with little or nothing, &c. It is sufficient to say that each and all of those studies caused me countless troubles, fabulous misadventures, and unheard-of trials.

IV.

What are our duties in the world? What will ultimately become of Penguins? Where do we go to after death? Why were some birds created without feathers, some fish without fins, or animals without feet?

My worldly experience often tempted me to wish to return to my egg. One day, after profound reflection, I fell asleep, and during my repose heard a noise, which was neither that of the waves nor any sound to which I was accustomed. “Wake up!” said the active part of my being, that which never seems to slumber, and is ever on the alert like a guardian angel to ward off danger. “Wake up, and you will behold something to rouse your curiosity.” “Certainly not,” said that other most excellent part of ourselves which requires sleep. “I am not curious, and have no desire to see anything. I have already seen too much.” Still the other insisted, and I continued: “It would be wrong to break my slumber for anything spurious; besides you deceive me, the sound has gone. It is a dream; let me sleep! let me sleep!” I really wished to sleep, stubbornly closed my eyes as best I might, and folded and fondled myself to repose with all those little cares common to sleepers. But, alas! all was of no avail; I woke up. What shall I come to? I, who vainly thought myself the most considerable creature living, the only bird in creation. I sank into utter insignificance before the sight that met my gaze. There, before me, I beheld at least a dozen most charming creatures, some with expanded wings floating in mid-air, others diving into the waves, and again rising to display their snow-white plumage in the morning sun. Surely, I thought, these are the inhabitants of a happier and more perfect world. Had they descended from the sun or moon? What unknown caprice had brought them to my rock? {60} They were endowed with a sublime mastery over the elements, skimming the waves as if to laugh at their fury, resting for an instant on the solid earth, and, as if disdaining its support, again cleaving the air with their glorious wings. So wrapt was I in admiring the grace and perfection of their movements, that jealousy never clouded my mind. At last, carried away by the ardour of youth, and the emotion with which the beautiful fills the breast, I rushed into their midst, exclaiming: “Celestial birds, fairies of the air!” Here I had to pause for want of breath.

“A Penguin!” cried one of them.

“A Penguin!” repeated the whole band; and as they all laughed on seeing me, I concluded that my presence gave them pleasure, and so I boldly introduced myself in the following words:—“Ladies and gentlemen, you are right, I am a Penguin, and you are the fairest forms I have gazed upon since the hour I left my shell. I am proud of your acquaintance, and should like to join in your sport.”

“Penguin,” said my lady friend who had first addressed me, and who appeared to be the queen, but who, I afterwards learned, was only a laughing Gull. “You do not know what you are asking, you may, however, profit by experience. It shall never be said that such an elegant Penguin received a denial.” She then gave me a flip with her wing which sent me reeling into the midst of the group, another did the same, and they all followed suit, flipping me about, first to one side, then to another. This was sport!

As soon as I could get the words out, I shouted, “Stop! you are killing me.”

“Bah!” said they, “we are only beginning, hah! hah! Keep him warm. Keep the ball rolling.” The sport began anew, and with such vigour that I soon fell to the ground thoroughly humbled and exhausted. The Gull who had first called me Penguin, and who had taken the lead in maltreating me, noticing my prostration, reproached herself for her conduct.

“Forgive us, my poor Penguin. You do not seem to relish our rollicking style, yet it is our nature, so pray do not blame us if you are hurt.” She then came forward and bent over me with such a tender look, that, in spite of what she had just done, she seemed for the moment perfectly beautiful and good.

But pity often comes of self-love, and is nothing more than regret for harshness. What I mistook for the dawn of affection was only {61} sorrow for having done wrong. Thus, as soon as she saw me comforted, away she flew with her companions.

This sudden flight so startled me, that it was impossible to find a single word or gesture to prevent it, and again I was alone. From that moment solitude seemed insupportable.

IV.

To tell the truth, I was blindly in love, and savage at having done {62} nothing to win a bride so beautiful. Why did I not exercise my blandishments? While pondering these things I wandered to the edge of a pool of water. It was placid and clear, reflecting only the blue heaven, until, bending down to dip and cool my fevered beak, I beheld my own image, and nearly choked as the picture of my unsightly proportions flashed on my mind. I left the mirror, and soon by reason of vanity forgot what manner of bird I was. Sleepless nights and miserable days became my portion. Eagerly I listened to the whisperings of the wind, thinking that I heard the gentle sound of that lovely spirit of the air descending to soothe my troubled heart. Vain thought! she never came, and worse luck, my appetite had gone with her. My only solace was the sea. There was something in the mournful voice of its waves, as they broke on the great rocks, that soothed me in my saddest hours. There was something in its immeasurable depth typical of the grief which overwhelmed me.

The reader may feel inclined to smile at my vulgar and unpoetic proportions, nevertheless, let me remind him that God has so framed the world, that in the rudest and most unlikely forms among men and beasts repose the sublimest attributes. Thus human genius is seldom found mated with bodies of herculean type. So the sentiment of a love-sick Penguin can never be estimated by the appearance of its too solid body.

V.

“Suspense becomes intolerable, I can no longer bear it,” I said, and cast myself into the sea to drown my sorrow in its mournful waves.

VI.

Unfortunately, I discovered how to swim, so my history does not end here.

VII.

When I rose to the surface—one always rises two or three times before drowning—yielding to my passion for soliloquies, I inquired what right had I thus to seek to destroy myself; if the world would not be just one Penguin worse off, had I met my end, &c. My soliloquy was long. I was drifting many leagues straight ahead; now and again diving with the dire resolve of going to the bottom and {63} remaining there. But for some reason I always found myself coming to the surface, and, to tell the truth, the air seemed all the more refreshing after each dip. Just as my seventh attempt at suicide had miscarried, I rose to find myself side by side with a creature whose simple unaffectedness won my heart at first sight.

“What were you after below there, Mr. Penguin? and where are you going?” he inquired, bowing profoundly.

“I hardly know,” I replied.

“Well,” said he, “suppose we go together.”

I willingly agreed, and on the way related my misfortunes to him. When I had finished, he asked me if I had formed any plans for the future. “No,” I said, “not any, still I have half a mind to travel in search of my lady-love, the Gull.”

“How came you to love a Gull? You look a large solid bird enough. Why don’t you devote your affections to one of your own decent stay-at-home kind? Depend upon it, the Gull, could you wed her, would only bring grief. She is puffed out with feathers, and ever on the wing; she would soon desert you for one of her own kind.”

This seemed severe, and I replied testily, “There’s no accounting either for tastes or for love. It came upon me like a sunbeam from heaven.”

“From heaven!” said my companion. “Lovers’ language! A {64} strong light, this light of love; and it has left a shadow of pitchy darkness somewhere, has it not?”

“Ah! sir,” I said, “you look dejected. My story, perchance, stirred up old memories.” He said nothing, but wrapped in profound melancholy ascended a rock left dry by the tide, and I followed. There was such an air of profundity about him that I inquired what he was thinking about.

“Nothing,” he replied.

“But who are you, whose silence is so eloquent?”

“I am of the Palmiped family, and my name is Fool.”

“You, Fool!” I cried. “Come!”

“Yes,” he replied, “I am so named in the world from my habit of minding other people’s affairs and neglecting my own; so sinking myself, what can I do for you? Listen, my friend,” said this sublime bird; “not far from here is an island called the ‘Isle of Penguins.’ It is only inhabited by birds of your tribe. They are all of them equally ugly; go there, and who knows, you may even be thought handsome.”

“Am I then so unsightly?” said I.

“Yes,” he said, “you are as unlike the gull as the grub is unlike the butterfly.”

VIII.

During our voyage, encountering a severe storm, we rode it tranquilly on the breast of the billows, while great ships, freighted with the wealth of the world, were wrecked and lost before our eyes. It was pitiful to hear the shrieks of the perishing sounding above the tempest, men and women who had braved the dangers of the deep, some to seek happier climes, others, the riches they were doomed never to enjoy.

At last through many dangers we reached the shores of the “Happy Island.”

“Let us pause here,” said my sage companion, “and note the native mode of seeking what I hold to be a myth—earthly happiness.”

Shaking ourselves dry, my friend, who had studied geography, elevated his beak, and casting his eye along its line, took our position from the sun. The result was curious and instructive to navigators, and even to mankind generally, not to mention birds. According to our calculations, we had been availing ourselves of every slant of wind {65} to push ahead, and, strange to say, reached land a hundred miles astern of the point we started from. Had we been men, pioneers of civilisation, gifted with a sublime belief in our own powers, we should have no doubt proved to our own satisfaction that we had made unheard-of progress. Men and mules, without knowing it, go as often backwards as forwards.

My friend here remarked that the island was unknown, had never, in fact, found its place in any map. Our observations, therefore, cannot fail to prove useful.

“Let us go inland. If you don’t object?”

“With all my heart;” and in my youthful ardour was about to kiss the happy soil.

“There, calm yourself,” said the Sage. “This is neither Peru nor the Penguins’ Paradise. The name alone misleads you. This land, ‘Happy Island,’ is so named because its inhabitants (all of them) inherit a furious desire for happiness, not because they are happy; they spend their lives chasing a phantom, and when it seems nearest, they are swallowed up in the grave. These islanders cannot be brought to understand that wrong must exist, and that happiness may be obtained by redressing wrongs and grievances, and that the most one can do is to snatch moments of bliss from one’s days and years of toil and sorrow. I have heard that men, after trying all sorts of new-fashioned receipts for happiness, fall back on the oldest plans, imagining they have discovered in them a new panacea for all earthly woes.

“These curious islanders make self their god. They make it a rule each one to seek his own personal gratification, this plan is most ancient: love, sympathy, self-sacrifice, devotion, virtue, duty, are with them nothing more than words whose meaning has been long forgotten. Another rule is to avoid doing anything that will in any way mar one’s enjoyment, or spoil one’s ease. It will be seen that only the rich among them are able to carry out their principles to the full extent. Let us note how they manage affairs. Do you see the mansion over there? is it not beautiful? In it the disciples of pleasure carry on their amusements. Let us look in; we may learn something. Over the doorway we read in Latin, ‘Here we are, four hundred of us, all happy’; followed by a text from their sacred classics, ‘Neutralise the influence of parents upon children, and all will go well.’ ”

In the first room we came across a charming illustration of the text—a number of showily-dressed, attractive-looking mothers, who refused {66} to sit on their eggs. Some of them had strolled into the garden to spend their time more usefully in flirting with dangerous-looking male friends. Somehow the poor little ones were hatched. “You {67} unwelcome rubbish!” said the mothers; “now that we have had all the trouble of bringing you into the world, some one must nurse you—we are otherwise engaged. We will return and spoil you {68} later on, if we think of it.” Guardians are found. A Weasel displayed the deepest interest in the eggs, an Adder watched them tenderly as they were about to break, while Wolves feasted on the young to keep them out of harm’s way.

By far the most telling scene was met with in the schoolroom. There we saw bloated-looking Boars prosecuting their studies by lying on their bellies, or rolling over on their backs. Oxen, that had abandoned the plough, and Camels striving to make their neighbours carry their humps.

Those who were not asleep were yawning, or going to yawn, or had yawned. All of them seemed profoundly dull. Near the centre sat a Monkey nursing his knee, who, with his head thrown back, seemed to be absorbed in his reflections.

“Sir,” I said, addressing him, “are these dejected-looking creatures around you happy?”

“I fear not,” was his reply; “although their sole pursuit is happiness, some of them are miserable enough. As for myself, I feel supremely uncomfortable on this confounded stool, but as governor I must keep awake.”

On our way we passed in front of the shop of a blacksmith, who was fitting a pair of carpet slippers to a tender-footed horse. Suddenly I said to my travelling companion, “I have had quite enough of this ‘Happy Island,’ let us continue our voyage.”

IX.

PENGUIN ISLAND.

Two days later we reached Penguin Island. “What does that mean?” I said, on perceiving some two hundred individuals of my kind ranged as if in battle-array along the shore. “Are these troops intended to do us honour, or to prevent our landing?”

“Fear nothing,” said my friend, “these Penguins are our friends. It is the custom of their country to parade the shores in flocks.”

We were received with much kindness, and conducted with great ceremony towards an old _Sphemiscus_, the King of the island. This good King was seated on a stone, which served as a throne, and surrounded by his subjects, who seemed to be all known to him. {69}

“Illustrious strangers,” he exclaimed, as soon as he perceived us approaching, “we are delighted to make your acquaintance,” and as the crowd around him barred our way, he continued: “My children, range yourselves on one side, and allow the strangers to pass.” The ladies stood on his right, and the gentlemen on his left. “You, sirs, are welcome to enjoy the freedom of our kingdom.” {70}

I ventured to say, “Sire, your renown is the talk of the whole world, and the hope of seeing you alone sustained us through the perils of our journey.”

“Good!” whispered my friend; “you are a courtly liar for one so young; but be careful, else you may die a diplomatist.”

My speech so pleased the King, that he cast off his Phrygian cap, descended from his perch, and clasped me to his breast, saying, “You are, for one so young, a bird most fair and honest. Remain with me to aid me in my old age.”

“Noble sir,” I replied, “your knowledge of Penguin character is truly worthy of your fame. I will gladly accept your generous offer, trusting that my youth and inexperience may excuse my many shortcomings.”

“Stay, are you married?”

“No, your Majesty, I am a bachelor.”

“He is a bachelor!” cried the King, turning towards the ladies, who at once, and for the first time, overwhelmed me with their fond gaze.

“A bachelor! a bachelor!” cried a chorus of voices, “what a dreadful creature!”

“Hush!” said the King, “we have cured worse maladies. There is my daughter.”

“But, Sire,” I protested, “my heart is lost to another.”

“The remark is worthy of your modesty. You shall wed my daughter; the notion suits me; it is a question of privilege, not of heart.”

I so little expected this proposal, that I remained mute with amazement.

“He who says nothing, consents,” said the King. Before I had time to decide, my eyes met those of the princess. It was but for a moment. The god of love had kindled a perfect conflagration in her breast. Everything was arranged before I could say no, so engrossed was I with my own reflections. That momentary glance had evidently sealed my fate. So far as one’s after-life is concerned, it had more effect in neutralising my happiness than if I had, from my earliest infancy, set myself the task of inventing the best means of blighting my peace.

“Well,” said the monarch, “look at your future wife. Are you not delighted? too happy to find words to express your joy? Is she not lovely?” The poor old potentate looked tenderly on his {71} daughter, and with tears in his eyes, continued—“You cannot know what I am offering, she is a good child, a good child! and will make a dear wife. Not a single subject in my realm boasts smaller eyes, yellower beak, rounder form, or larger feet. She is indeed beautiful!”

The wedding was arranged, and we were married in great state. My wife’s father paid all the expenses; for in Penguin land kings as well as subjects have enough to marry and dower their daughters. This was how I became the King’s son, and how foolish marriages are made. My real troubles date from the close of the ceremony, as my wife was neither very handsome nor very good.

X.

I might finish here, but as I have gone so far, I may as well relate the bitter end.

I dreamt one night that I beheld my first love, and that she beckoned to me to follow her. The whole scene was so vivid that when I awoke, I felt I could recognise the spot if it existed in any part of the earth. In a weak moment I resolved to start in search of this heaven and its goddess. At last, I left the Penguin shore, ostensibly on a diplomatic mission. For two whole years I searched the world over; but in vain, until, just as I was giving up hope, I discovered the object of my solicitude on a sandbank, stooping over the filthy remains of a stranded Whale, in the society of a ragged, vicious-looking Cormorant, the meanest of birds. This then was the Gull of my dreams! the spirit of the air! the ideal of beauty, the Peri, the sylph, whose seductive image had cursed my life. My eyes opened, but too late to discover how the fool mistakes the glitter of the basest metal for the lustre of pure gold. What would I not have given to crush the memory of my folly out of my heart; to begin life anew, and ponder well the first false steps. Yet I reflected, all may be well, better far the bitterest truth than the sweetest falsehood.

Setting sail for Penguin Island, I resolved never again to quit its shore, and to become a good husband, father, and prince.

XI.

On landing, I first visited the people, who were well, next, my {72} father-in-law, who, thank God, was better than the people. I then began to look for my dear wife and child, and—good heavens! I {73} found my family had increased to four. My wife, poor soul, had taken another husband, thinking I had deserted her.

I at once repaired to my old friend and travelling companion, whose ability the King had sought to reward by making him Prime Minister; but he refused to add to his cares that of office, and retired to live as a hermit on the top of a rock. He had chosen the highest rock in the realm, whence, far above the turmoil of the state, he bent his philosophic gaze on the lower world which he had abandoned to its fate. I felt much in need of sympathy and advice. After recounting my woes, the answer of the recluse sent a thrill of despair through my heart.

“Bah!” he said, “I am sick of all the affairs of life. Each hour wounds, but happily, the last kills us. Forget your troubles. Arm your heart against the malignant influences that mar the peace of brutes and men. Why the devil should _you_ be happy? (he was a profane bird). What have you done to merit happiness? How fared you in your journey? Have you seen enough of the world—sinned too much? Hah! hah! Is your punishment greater than you can bear? Poor deluded Penguin! you have been the football of our old enemy, fate. It must have been great fun for the old rascal, to mark your abortive attempts at heavenward flight with these half-formed wings. Hah! hah! what a capital joke!”

“You seem merry, my friend,” said I, “your levity wounds me deeply.”

“Listen, my child,” he replied. “You have spent the best of your days in vain pursuit of the unattainable. Depend upon it, the nearest approach to happiness is found in paths obscure and humble. Paths of duty along which kind Providence will ever act as our guide.”

“You puzzle me,” I remarked, “your language is as changeable as English weather. At one moment you are a wicked bird, at another a moral philosopher.”

“Nay, friend,” he said, “these are but the passing moods of the mind. I am told that men as well as birds have their moods. Even some most religious men, they tell me, wear a sombre cloak to conceal the sinful thoughts that are always present with them. They resemble the shells they employ in warfare; harmless enough, until thrown to the ground by some sudden shock of passion which fires the fuse and destroys them. It seems to me, in order to succeed in the pursuit of happiness you must prefer clouds to sunshine, rain to fair {74} weather, grief to joy. You must possess nothing, and yet find yourself too rich, take all that is done as well done, all that is said as well said, believe nothing, and yet know everything. Dream while you are living, live in your dreams. After all when you feel really happy, have patience, and time will surely destroy the illusion.”

Here the philosopher paused for breath.

Reader, if you are unhappy, let me counsel you to take warning from the life of a poor Penguin, who blighted his hopes by worshipping at the shrine of a false goddess.

{75}

THE LAST WORDS OF AN EPHEMERA.

It was the opinion of the savants of our race who lived in ancient times, many minutes, indeed, before we came into being, that this vast world would dissolve and disappear within eighteen hours. That this hypothesis is not without foundation, and at the same time worthy of the erudition of the ancients, I hope to be able to prove. The great luminary travelling through space has, during my own time, sensibly declined towards the ocean which bounds the earth on all sides. If, therefore, we base our calculation on the space traversed by the sun per second, it will be found that, before eighteen hours have elapsed, his fire will be quenched in the ocean, and the world given up to darkness and death. He has already passed the zenith. For all that, the moment when the bright disc will dip beneath the waves seems distant as eternity, when measured by the span of our lives. I myself have enjoyed several moments of existence, and feel age creeping on apace. I see children and grandchildren around me dancing in the joyous light. I may live a few seconds longer, and witness many changes; yet my life has been so full of sad experiences, as to convince me that, in the course of nature, I must soon follow those who have gone before. In reviewing my past existence, while clearly discerning its failures and follies, I venture to hope that it has not been altogether misspent. My researches have contributed not a little to solve some of the problems connected with the most curious phenomena of hedge-rows and ditches, keeping altogether out of account the facts which I have established connected with the duration of the earth. I have applied the most refined analysis to discover the true constituents of the atmosphere, and the meteorological conditions which promote or destroy insect life. I could reveal secrets to mankind, to which their microscopes and spectroscopes can never afford the faintest clue. These are certain elements necessary to our existence only known to ourselves, as also the important functions we perform in carrying out the wise economy of nature.

Men are blind to everything that does not, as they conceive, bear {76} directly or indirectly on their own interest, and in their folly they imagine that our lives are worse than useless. They cannot perceive that we are ministering spirits of the air, sent by an all-wise Creator to correct abuses of which they themselves are the authors. But life is short; all too short for the labour it implies. Alas! my end draws near, and my friends console me by saying that I have done enough to earn lasting fame, and to promote the happiness of my race, until the eighteenth hour witnesses their destruction, and the wreck of this great plain which men call the earth.

{77}

THE SORROWS OF AN OLD TOAD.

My father was already well up in years and corpulence, when the joys of paternity came upon him for the last time. Alas! his happiness was of short duration. My poor mother’s strength was overtaxed with a dreadful laying of eggs, and, in spite of the tenderest nursing, she at last succumbed to the effort of bringing me to the light. I was brought forth in sorrow, and to this fact I attribute the deep shade of melancholy which has clouded my existence. I was always of a dreamy, contemplative nature. This, indeed, formed the basis of my character. The early days of my Tadpole life are wrapped in gloom, so dense as to render them void of incident. I can just dimly recollect my father, squatted beneath a broad leaf on the bank of a stream, smiling benignly as he watched my progress. He had always a soft, liquid eye, in whose depths I could read the love of his tender heart. His eyes were of a greenish hue, and protruded. This, taken together with his noble proportions, his enemies attributed to high living. He was in reality a contemplative Toad, whose greatest success lay in the cultivation of philosophic leisure. He carefully avoided the water, and, little by little, withdrew himself from the scene of my exploits. I am ashamed to say that his absence never caused me to shed a tear. I had two or three brothers about my own age, with whom I giddily threw myself into all the pleasures of life. It was a joyous time! What would I not give to recall those fleeting hours of my youth, with all their happy experiences. Where is now the lovely stream, over whose dewy banks the reeds and grasses bent to watch the play of sunlight on its smiling face? Where the crystal {78} pools, the scenes of my adventures in an enchanted world? the dark-bearded stones, ’neath which we followed many a giddy course, our hearts throbbed with fright as we came face to face with some motionless Eel, or touched the silver scales of a dreamy Carp? I can recall the great fish, troubled in his sleep, viewing us with a quick, angry glance, until, perceiving our shame and confusion, he smiled, and we renewed our game.

It is impossible to describe the pleasure of being rocked, caressed and fondled by the current as it pursues its tranquil course. Every ray of sunlight that found its way through the willows revealed new wonders. The dull, dead sand was glorified by the light until it shone like a bed of jewels. Myriads of creatures seemed to spring into life. The weeds flashed with a thousand hues, the hard-hearted pebbles flung back the rays with a brightness that pierced the deep recesses of the stony bed.

Delirious with joy, how often have I not dived to mingle with the light, to catch something of the fleeting charms it scattered so lavishly around. At such times I completely lost my head. (Pardon me, dear reader, should I seem to exaggerate; a Tadpole who has lost his head must make the most of his _tail_, as he has nothing more left to him.) We then thought ourselves indomitable, pursuing shoals of microscopic fish that sought and found shelter beneath the stones. But the huge Spiders, walking on the water and devouring all they came across, afforded rare sport. Gliding cautiously up behind, we used to lick the soles of their feet, and dart off, amazed at our own audacity, to seek cover beneath the shade of lily leaves. I have passed whole days under those leaves, examining with the profound admiration of youth, the delicacy and beauty of their configuration. In each one of their pores I discovered little lungs, and such a marvellous organisation, that I dared not touch them, so much was I moved by the notion that, like ourselves, they must have feeling as well as vitality. These reflections intensified my curiosity to such a degree, that I made my way among the roots to try and find out the secrets of plant life, and see for myself the source of so much beauty. It seemed to me that the water-lily was a perfect type of goodness. It ungrudgingly displayed its charms to the gaze of the world, at the same time sheltering with its broad leaves the tenderest forms of life. Flower, leaves, and root alike refused to yield up their secrets, and yet though silent, every detail of their form was eloquent with the praise {79} of their Creator. Thoughts of the good fellowship subsisting between plants and animals brought tears to my eyes, which I suppose I must have shed and thus swollen the stream beneath which I was submerged. All those things made a permanent impression on my mind, although I have had my days of scepticism, when it appeared to me that disorder and misery were the ruling powers of the world. As my age advanced, my powers made corresponding progress; strange longings for a higher state of development filled my head, while my tail shortened and responded more and more tardily to its office of oar and rudder. Sharp pains shot through my posterior, ending in the growth of feet and lungs. In truth, I was becoming a Toad! The transformation is not without its moral significance. New members brought with them obligations to which I was a stranger, hardly knowing how to use the attributes Providence had placed at my disposal.

One day, I descried on the bank of the stream a Goose and her family about to take their daily bath. The scene was not new to me, but the emotions which filled my breast differed from anything I had experienced. The Goslings were lying all of a heap on a tuft of fine grass, and from my point of view, presented a confused mass of down, gilded by the sun. Here and there a little yellow beak might be seen. But the immobility of their position, and the utter abandonment of their postures informed me of their perfect contentment and tranquillity. The young brood was steeped in sleep, while the mother, bending a tender, watchful eye over them, uttered a sound so touching to their hearts, that every eye blinked, and every beak opened with a joyous quack.

“Good morning, mother,” they seemed to say, “Is it time for our bath?”

“Yes, lazy little ones. Do you not hear the music of the stream, or feel the heat of the mid-day sun? Your heads are exposed to its scorching rays.”

“O mother! don’t disturb our rest,” they replied. “You have no notion of our comfort. The drowsy humming of the bees, the languid nodding of the harebell, and the scent of the new-mown hay are soothing us to sleep.”

“Hush your silly prattle and wake. A little courage, a little self-denial, my dears, and up with you.”

This was too much for the Goslings who slowly separated, presenting a confusion of pink feet, plushy wings, and golden beaks most {80} interesting to behold. Some rolled over and over in their attempts to gain their legs. At length they succeeded, and went waddling, and wagging their stumpy tails streamwards. When they reached the water’s edge, after many hesitations, strivings, and chatterings, they at last stretched their necks and entered boldly to float with the current.

“Strike out, my dears,” said the dame. “Heads erect, mind. It is supremely vulgar, my children, to bend the head unless to pick up something to your advantage. Kick the water bravely; it is made to serve you.”

It was a beautiful sight, and I was about to ask permission to {81} make one of their number, when the mother, in passing, haughtily tossed her beak in the air, saying, “Avoid slimy toads, and all such creatures—their presence is defiling!”

Judge, dear reader, of my pain and surprise. I dived into a dark pool to drown my wounded pride. When I again came to the surface, the interval had transformed me into a truly melancholy toad. A large spider, with whom I had become acquainted, passed over my head, smiling kindly at me; but he won no responsive smile. Feeling need of breath, I mechanically sought the bank, and was startled by a hoarse voice shouting—

“Confound you, reptile!” I turned, and perceived a gay personage decked in blue and gold—a Kingfisher. “What are you doing there, stupid? You with the four superfluous feet, body, head, and eyes. You slimy scoundrel! Don’t you know your vile presence poisons the stream? Get out, else I will swallow you like a gudgeon. Ugh!” I thought he was going to be sick. “Make off, you frighten my clients.” He was a fine-looking fellow, the colour of heaven itself; but with a voice like a lawyer, or the devil. To tell the truth, I was so afraid of him that I made for the bank. When fairly out of the water, I leant over its surface to return thanks for all the pleasure it had afforded me. To my horror, I beheld at my feet a strange misshapen thing, bearing some likeness to my father. I moved my head, it did the same; I raised my feet, it imitated the motion.

“Hah! hah!” shrieked the Kingfisher, “you lovely coquette! what do you think of your beautiful proportions?”

“What!” I said, “is that my image?”

“Yes, my treasure; are you not proud of the picture?”

It was all too true. There I was, and the willows above me as a frame, and the blue heaven as a background to my poor image. Well, after all, I thought the pure mirror of the stream was perhaps my truest friend, as it taught me to know myself. Bidding adieu to my former haunts, I turned my back upon the stream, and soon felt humbled and forsaken. My departure was quite unnoticed. The river went on its way as before, not a single blade of grass, not an insect moved to wish me a happy journey. Could I then be so completely dispensed with, I who at first had thought the world all my own? I felt so ashamed of giving offence that I asked pardon of the Kingfisher, who replied—

“Go to —— ! ” I dare not repeat his answer, it was of such a nature {82} as to convince me that he was a bird of the world. Day began to decline, and feeling fatigued, I sat down to rest. Being of a dreamy disposition, I found pleasure in contemplating nature. In front was a forest wrapped in a veil of purple mist, behind which the sun was setting and shooting its rays like fiery arrows through the leaves. Above, the calm sky was of a pale green hue, so soft, so full of tenderness, it filled my breast with the feeling that after all I was not forsaken, and gave me courage to live on. Pray do not set me down as a foolish toad, living on the pleasures of imagination. It is in such follies as these that I have found the chief joys of my life. The disinherited ones of earth must gather consolation where they can. The air was hushed, the flowers and grasses sparkled with dewy gems, the birds had sought their evening perches, and were singing each other to sleep. All around were crowds of little beings, pushing on to their homes, tired of the business of the day and covered with dust. Some one, doubtless, was waiting and watching for the return of each insect wanderer. Such thoughts as these again weighed down my heart with a feeling of utter loneliness and despair. Happily, not far from where I stood, I perceived a hole between two roots, which I prudently approached, and timidly feeling the walls, I entered. Surely, I thought, this will prove a quiet resting-place, when I heard a regular monotonous noise resembling some one snoring.

“Who is there?” cried a gruff voice; at the same moment I felt a sharp prick in my hind-quarters.

“I am a young toad, sir, not long out of the water.”

“Oh, horrors!” continued the voice.

“Forgive my intrusion, I will leave your house.” My eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, and I made out my adversary to be a jagged ball—a porcupine, would you believe it? This redoubtable personage was rather good to me. The stab with his quills, which had nearly killed me, still causes great suffering in damp weather. On my assurance that I did not snore, he allowed me to pass the night in his quarters. After he had a fair view of me, he cried—

“You are ugly! and that is drawing it mild. You are ugly, feeble, clumsy, impotent, silly!”

“Yes,” I murmured, for I felt he spoke the truth.

“You little affected monster, do not add to your ridiculous appearance by simulating wisdom and modesty. You are neither rich enough nor independent enough to indulge in such vanities. You are {83} doomed to be hated, strive to hate in return, it will give you strength, and when one is strong, one is joyful. Should any one approach you, spit at him! Resent even a look by your noxious spittle. Show your spots, your wounds, your slimy horrors. Make men flee and dogs bark at your hideousness. May the hatred of others be a shield to you. You, if you are not a fool, will find joy in hating. Be proud of your horrible envelope, as I am of my quills, and above all, do as I do—love no one.”

“If you do not love me a little”—here he burst out laughing—“just a very little, why do you give me such good advice?”

“Why, my simple friend,” he said, “I do not love you. You amuse me, since the _rôle_ you are about to play resembles my own. My enemies will be yours also. Don’t you see that the prospect of wounding their superfine feelings through such an ugly medium affords me a new pleasure? Let us be mutually accommodating, a joint-stock thorough nuisance to all who affect to loathe what God has made for some good end. I hardly know what I am made for, and next to erecting my quills offensively, like the bayonets on which some thrones are built, my chief happiness consists in doing nothing.”

These maxims seemed odious to me. I had no hand in making myself, otherwise my mouth should have been more contracted, and my stomach less capacious. Had I been consulted, I hardly think I would have chosen a “fretful porcupine” as my model, nor yet my father, poor old toad! who lived a contented sober life, and died regretting that his paunch had reached its fullest rotundity. It was no fault of mine that I inspired horror. If ugly and deformed, I was endowed with a profound love of the beautiful, which compensated in some measure for my awkward appearance, and, if I may use the expression, with a merciful provision of vanity, which enabled me ever to admire and cherish my own body. If my body was all too solid to respond to my every wish, yet my dreams and imaginings were unfettered as the wind. The reader, if he cares to study the habits of such an humble creature as the toad, will discover much truth in what I say; moreover, if he be an ill-favoured person, he may find comfort in my philosophic view of life.

A love-sick toad may be deemed by some an object worthy of ridicule; nevertheless, as my romantic experiences form one of the most eventful pages in my history, I am bound to take the reader into my confidence. {84}

I had reached that period of development when, rejoicing in the strength of youth and the full maturity of my faculties, I leaped from place to place, not without aim, as many might suppose, but in the pursuit of knowledge, frolic, or recreation. The sun shone brightly, grass and flowers were in full bloom around, breathing an intoxicating perfume into the midday air, when I first beheld the object of my dreams. My enemies may think me a plagiarist, and that I have lifted my sentiment from some modern novel. All I can say is that my book is nature, which I recommend to the study of writers of fiction, many of whose works would poison the morals of toads, for these prefer unadorned truth to the gaudy tinsel of the literary showman.

My love was bewitching in her dress of pale green. Oh how fondly I followed her with my eyes as she leaped from leaf to leaf, until at last I beheld her against the sky, her silken wings spread out to their fullest, descending lightly on to a blade of grass, which bending, swayed to and fro in the breeze! Flying in the air, toying with the flowers, making them quiver on their stems without soiling a single petal, skimming the placid water, admiring her own image on the wing, this fair creature won my heart. Vainly I strove to court her glance, forgetful that a vile toad in love is no more pleasing to the eye than a toad in grief or any other mood. At last she turned towards me, and in that weak moment I tried to smile, thinking I should look less repulsive. Alas! I discovered that my capacious mouth, bloated-looking eyes, and unyielding physiognomy, were powerless to respond to the sentiment of my heart. Besides, my pretty grasshopper failed to see me, or mistook my form for a clod of earth. Soon a deep shadow fell across me, and turning, I perceived a chubby boy advancing slowly, cautiously, armed with a huge net at the end of a long stick. I had already frequently observed him trying to catch butterflies and winged insects. When one of these poor, pretty, perfect little things escaped him, he lost his temper with his coveted prize, and savagely continued pursuit, crushing the first victim that fell to his net. I said to myself, “This is horrible! To this boy it appears a crime for an insect to strive to escape death. What have they done to warrant such a fate? They have not even the misfortune to be ugly.” This cruelty had such an effect on me, that one night I dreamed I saw large toads become light and mobile, catching men-children in their nets, and pinning them to the trunks of trees. I accepted the dream as a bad omen, and rightly, for not long after I descried the child coming {85} towards the grasshopper, and divined that he was bent on capturing my lady-love. Not a moment was to be lost. I saw the danger, calculated my distance, and leaped just to the spot where the boy’s foot fell; he slipped on my back and rolled to the ground.

My love escaped from the snare! But I suffered greatly, having one of my hind-feet crushed and broken; yet, in spite of my agony, it was the sweetest moment of my life. The child got up crying, and seeing the cause of his fall, ran off in terror, only stopping in his flight to cast a stone at me. Happily he was as unskilful as wicked, and I was left with only a few scratches. My heroine, who had taken in the whole situation, came towards me accompanied by many friends. I should have preferred her being alone. Her companions were daintily dressed, perfumed with the fine essence of flowers, and seemed to be led towards me more by curiosity than compassion. When they had gathered around, I raised my eyes in hope of the happiness that I thought awaited me.

“Is it this poor wretch, did you say, my darling, who was crushed?” murmured a grasshopper in the tone of one about to perform a very disagreeable duty. “Oh! ah! This is really disgusting. Mark the creature’s wounds—how horrible! If one were not sustained by elevated sentiments, one would feel inclined to quit the scene. Oh, the hideous monster! Is it not strange that heroism should appear in such ignoble guise?”

Here this heartless drivelling fool stroked his chin with his foot and looked as if he had said rather a good thing. My grasshopper-goddess laughed affectedly, and I think made a sign to them to fetch her the strongest perfume to stifle the odour of my bleeding body. Addressing me, she said, “Say, my good fellow, why did you render me this service? Do you know that yours was a fine action?”

The moment had arrived for me to cast myself at her feet and proclaim my love, and I stammered out, “Willingly would I have sacrificed my life to save you, my love! my treasure! my”——

Sad to relate, my voice was drowned in the coarse laughter of the lady and her foolish friends.

“Upon my honour,” said one, “this is a gay toad!” “Hah! hah! a mangled toad in love!” roared another. “Isn’t he a romantic-looking creature?” inquired a third. “Come, ladies, one of you waltz with him. Nay, don’t go too near, I think he has teeth.” {86}

They then walked round and examined me with their glasses in the most insulting manner.

“I find him less hideous than grotesque,” murmured the queen. “It is his head that is unique. Why, his face is enough to make the daisies yellow, and freeze the swamps with fright! Have you all seen his eye?”

“Yes! yes! his eye,” they replied, “is very strange! very strange!”

Could anything be more galling to my pride to be thus made the butt of these hateful fools? Had they stabbed me to the heart, I think I should have survived in spite of them, but their jeers and laughter made me die a thousand deaths. Under the dominion of proud sentiment (of which I am now heartily ashamed), I raised myself on my bleeding foot and addressed the grasshoppers.

“I ask you for neither pity nor recompense. You yourselves witnessed”——

“Listen!” said one; “he speaks well, although thick, like a person in liquor.”

“This is horribly interesting.”

“You witnessed,” I continued, almost fainting, “an act of devotion. I loved”—— The hilarity burst forth anew, and the grasshoppers, no longer able to control themselves, joined hands and danced round me like a troop of green devils, singing—

“Hail, lover, hail! joy to your tender heart.”

They certainly enjoyed themselves thoroughly that day. After all, they had only obeyed their nature, and I had mistaken my own.

I had fully proved my own vanity and stupidity—at least, that was the opinion of my friend the Porcupine, who that night drove me out of his den.

From that time I felt myself an outcast, and sought humbly to win the favour of my own kind by making myself useful in my own proper sphere. I became almost a creature of the night, and lost sight of much of the beautiful that had charmed me, for the world is full of beautiful things to those who can look out of and beyond themselves. It boasts also fortunate beings whose lives would be all the more happy if they would only consent, now and then, to yield up one of their joyous hours to gladden the hearts of the poor. I ask you, dear reader, is it not so? You may be a creature, charming in person, refined in manner, and successful. Their attributes, as you use them, may make {87} you either a god-like ministering spirit in the world, or a fascinating fiend. Your strong sympathy and timely help may lighten the burden of the poor, may cause a deformed brother to forget his deformity and delight in your beauty as much as if it were his own. There would be no plain-looking or even ugly creatures to curse the day of their birth, were there no cruel, well-favoured observers to wound them with their looks and gestures. But I am forgetting the lesson which I myself learned late in life. I had put myself in the way of finding out by experience that a poor toad could never have wings, nor, though everything is fair in love and war, could he hope to win the heart of a grasshopper.