The Newcomes | Page 2

goggling out of his head in a
manner which appeared quite ridiculous to the old blackamoor, who
watched the splay-footed slimy wretch with that peculiar grim humour
belonging to crows. Not far from the frog a fat ox was browsing; whilst
a few lambs frisked about the meadow, or nibbled the grass and
buttercups there.
Who should come in to the farther end of the field but a wolf? He was
so cunningly dressed up in sheep's clothing, that the very lambs did not
know Master Wolf; nay, one of them, whose dam the wolf had just
eaten, after which he had thrown her skin over his shoulders, ran up
innocently towards the devouring monster, mistaking him for her
mamma.
"He, he!" says a fox, sneaking round the hedge-paling, over which the
tree grew, whereupon the crow was perched looking down on the frog,
who was staring with his goggle eyes fit to burst with envy, and
croaking abuse at the ox. "How absurd those lambs are! Yonder silly
little knock-kneed baah-ling does not know the old wolf dressed in the
sheep's fleece. He is the same old rogue who gobbled up little Red
Riding Hood's grandmother for lunch, and swallowed little Red Riding
Hood for supper. Tirez la bobinette et la chevillette cherra. He, he!"
An owl that was hidden in the hollow of the tree woke up. "Oho,
Master Fox," says she, "I cannot see you, but I smell you! If some folks
like lambs, other folks like geese," says the owl.
"And your ladyship is fond of mice," says the fox.
"The Chinese eat them," says the owl, "and I have read that they are
very fond of dogs," continued the old lady.
"I wish they would exterminate every cur of them off the face of the
earth," said the fox.
"And I have also read, in works of travel, that the French eat frogs,"

continued the owl. "Aha, my friend Crapaud! are you there? That was a
very pretty concert we sang together last night!"
"If the French devour my brethren, the English eat beef," croaked out
the frog,--"great, big, brutal, bellowing oxen."
"Ho, whoo!" says the owl, "I have heard that the English are toad-eaters
too!"
"But who ever heard of them eating an owl or a fox, madam?" says
Reynard, "or their sitting down and taking a crow to pick?" adds the
polite rogue, with a bow to the old crow who was perched above them
with the cheese in his mouth. "We are privileged animals, all of us; at
least, we never furnish dishes for the odious orgies of man."
"I am the bird of wisdom," says the owl; "I was the companion of
Pallas Minerva: I am frequently represented in the Egyptian
monuments."
"I have seen you over the British barn-doors," said the fox, with a grin.
"You have a deal of scholarship, Mrs. Owl. I know a thing or two
myself; but am, I confess it, no scholar--a mere man of the world--a
fellow that lives by his wits--a mere country gentleman."
"You sneer at scholarship," continues the owl, with a sneer on her
venerable face. "I read a good deal of a night."
"When I am engaged deciphering the cocks and hens at roost," says the
fox.
"It's a pity for all that you can't read; that board nailed over my head
would give you some information."
"What does it say?" says the fox.
"I can't spell in the daylight," answered the owl; and, giving a yawn,
went back to sleep till evening in the hollow of her tree.
"A fig for her hieroglyphics!" said the fox, looking up at the crow in the

tree. "What airs our slow neighbour gives herself! She pretends to all
the wisdom; whereas, your reverences, the crows, are endowed with
gifts far superior to these benighted old big-wigs of owls, who blink in
the darkness, and call their hooting singing. How noble it is to hear a
chorus of crows! There are twenty-four brethren of the Order of St.
Corvinus, who have builded themselves a convent near a wood which I
frequent; what a droning and a chanting they keep up! I protest their
reverences' singing is nothing to yours! You sing so deliciously in parts,
do for the love of harmony favour me with a solo!"
While this conversation was going on, the ox was thumping the grass;
the frog was eyeing him in such a rage at his superior proportions, that
he would have spurted venom at him if he could, and that he would
have burst, only that is impossible, from sheer envy; the little lambkin
was lying unsuspiciously at the side of the wolf in fleecy hosiery, who
did not as yet molest her, being replenished with the mutton her
mamma. But