be sure, have a week's
holiday, as they sit but three weeks; but what should I bring to light?
a parcel of little, useless, tip-toed, cowardly things, that would not
follow me into the pond--I cannot bear to think of it. I have written
you a long letter, and can think of no more but Quack! quack! quack! and
farewell.

[Illustration: SPARROWS.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

LETTER VIII.

_FROM THE GANDER TO THE TURKEY-COCK._

(CHARLES BLOOMFIELD.)

Old friend, you certainly have merit;
You really are a bird of spirit.
I'm quite surprised, I must confess;
I did not think you did possess
Such valour as you've lately shown--
In fact, 'tis nearly like my own.
You know I've always been renown'd
For bravery, since first I found
That I could hiss; and feel I'm bolder
Each year that I am growing older.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: GOOSE.]

You must, I'm sure, have often seen,
When in the pond, or on the green,
With all my family about me
(I can't think how they'd do without me),
Some human thing come striding by,
And how, without a scruple, I
March after him, and bite his heel;
And then, you know, the pride I feel
To hear, as back I march again,
The feat extoll'd by all my train.
But if I were to tell you all
The valiant actions, great and small,
That ever were achieved by me,
I never should have done, I see;
For cows, and pigs, and horses know
The consequence of such a foe.
However, I am glad to find
That you have such a noble mind,
And think, my friend, that by and by
You'll rise to be as great as I.

Your old friend,

HISS.

[Illustration]

LETTER IX.

_FROM THE DUNGHILL-COCK TO THE CHAFFINCH._

I have often, during the spring and summer, heard you of a morning
piping away in the hedges, sometimes as soon as I was up myself, and
thought your singing pretty fair, and that you conducted yourself as you
ought to do. But this I cannot say lately; for it is quite overstepping
the bounds of decency and good manners when you and your brother
pilferers, now the winter is come, make it your daily practice to come
by scores, as you do, into our yard, and, without any ceremony, eat
up all the barley you can lay your beaks to. I suppose when the
spring comes again, and you find more to satisfy you outside a farmyard
than within, you will be off to the hedge