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

* * * * *

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

Now you must know that most animals are rather afraid to attack a toad,
believing that he is a magician, and has the power of injuring his
enemies by spitting at them. Whether this be true or not I cannot say,
but I am sure that our friend was the most quiet, inoffensive creature
on earth. But Mrs. Weasel seemed to think different