I was so terribly afraid of being caught by the sailors, that I confined myself more than usual to the cabin, keeping close to the hole that I had made, that I might always be ready for a start should the blue eyes ever happen to rest upon me; but those books, those famous books, happily gave them other occupation.

"Papa," said Neddy to his father one day, "I should rather have gone to some other place than St. Petersburg, I feel such a dislike to the Russians."

"Why should you dislike them," said the captain.

"Oh! because they were our enemies so long, and killed so many of our fine fellows!"

"They were but obeying the orders of their czar— doing what they believed to be their duty."

"But they were horribly cruel, papa."

"It would both be ungenerous and unjust to charge upon a whole nation the crimes of a few individuals. It is singular that one of the most striking examples of mercy to a foe of which I have ever heard, was shown by a Russian. The story is given as a fact, and I have pleasure in relating it, not only from its own touching interest, but from the hope that it may teach my son what our conduct should be towards those who, though our foes, are our fellow-creatures still.

"In the time of the first Napoleon, the French invaded Russia, from whence they were obliged to retreat, suffering the most fearful hardships, not only from the usual privations of war, but those caused by famine and the fearful cold of that northern clime. Thousands and thousands of brave troops perished in this fatal retreat. The splendid army which had marched into Russia so numerous and strong, melted away like a snow-ball! The fierce Cossacks hovered around the lessening bands, cutting off the weary stragglers who, unable to keep up with the rest, sank down upon the snow to die!

"At this fearful time two poor French officers, separated from their comrades, helpless and exhausted, sought refuge at the house of a lady, beseeching her to preserve them from the terrible death with which they were threatened, either from cold and hunger, or the swords of their enemies. The lady was a Russian,— the officers were her foes,— she had probably suffered from the devastating march of the French army,— but she had the heart of a woman. She dared not conceal the officers in her own house for fear of her servants and the rage of her countrymen, who would probably have not only slain the fugitives, but have wreaked their vengeance also upon her for seeking to protect their enemies. The Russian lady hid them in a wood, at some little distance from her dwelling, and thither every night, braving both the danger of discovery and the peril of being attacked by wolves, did this noble-hearted woman go alone, to bear food and necessaries to the suffering Frenchmen."

"Oh! papa, just fancy hurrying along the snow, with the sharp winter's wind cutting like a knife,— and then perhaps to hear a distant howl, showing that a wolf was on one's track! Oh! I should not have fancied those night expeditions!"

"It would have been noble," resumed the captain, "to have ventured thus for a friend,— the Russian lady did so for her enemies."

"And were the French officers saved at last?"

"Yes; by freely giving her money as she had freely risked her safety, after a while the lady contrived the escape of the fugitives beyond the frontier. When a considerable time had elapsed, a present of a piece of plate, which she received from France, showed that the officers were not ungrateful to their preserver."

"She was a generous enemy, papa, and a noble woman. But are not the common people in Russia very ignorant and bad?"

"Very ignorant I believe they are, but it would be harsh and wrong to call them very bad. They are cheerful and good-tempered, and even when intoxicated they do not show the ferocity which disgraces a drunkard in England."

"But are they not dreadful thieves?"

"They are said to be very skilful in cheating, and singularly dexterous in picking pockets. But here again it would be unjust to brand a whole nation with a disgraceful stigma.* I have another true story for you, Neddy, and this time it shall be of a poor Russian, a messenger, or as they call him, an Isdavoi.

"An English lady living at St. Petersburg gave five hundred rubles** in charge to an Isdavoi to deliver to her daughter, who dwelt at some distance. On the following day the Russian returned, kissed the lady's hand after the fashion of his country, and said, 'Pardon me, I am guilty. I cannot tell how it has happened, but I have lost your money, and cannot find it again. Deal with me as you please.'"

"The poor fellow," continued the captain, "probably expected a severe flogging, or dismissal from his office, but the lady had no inclination to punish him with such rigour. Unwilling to ruin the Isdavoi, she made no mention of his offence, considered the money as gone for ever, and after a while lost sight of the messenger entirely. After six years had elapsed he came to her one day with a joyful face, laden with six hundred rubles, which he brought in the place of those which had been intrusted to his care. On inquiry it was found that this honest Russian had for those six years been denying himself every little pleasure, and by resolute economy had saved up his wages until he had collected about half of the sum required. He had then married a wife whose feelings of honour appeared to have been as delicate as his own, for not only her dower of one hundred rubles was added to his hard-earned savings, but her little valuables had been sold to make up the full amount of the money that had been lost!"

"Oh, papa! what honest people! But did the English woman take all their money!"

"No entreaties on her part could induce the poor Isdavoi to take back the rubles to save up which had been for so long the object of his life. The lady, however, generously placed the money in a public bank to accumulate for the benefit of his children."

"Bravo!" exclaimed Neddy, clapping his hands; "that was just how a lady should behave; and as for the poor Isda— what do you call him?— he was a fine fellow, and quite worthy to have been an Englishman!"

[* The materials for my little sketch of Russian manners, &c., have been chiefly drawn from the translation of a work by the German traveller Kohl.]

[** A Russian piece of money.]



CHAPTER XV.

FIRST VIEW OF ST. PETERSBURG.

"Cronstadt! Cronstadt!" I heard the shout from the deck one evening when the sun was going down, and his red disk seemed resting on the heaving waters, while to the east the strong fortifications stood clearly defined against the sky, bathed in his glowing light. Being quite alone in the cabin, for every human being was on deck, I was taking my survey of the place from the open port-hole before me.

It was a very gay scene upon which I looked. Not even on the Thames, our own river, have I seen a greater variety of craft. Steam-boats, and sailing-boats, schooners, cutters, brigs and gondolas,— paddled along the water, or spread snowy wings to the breeze. I gazed upon them, and upon the formidable batteries, bristling with guns, which defend the "water-gate of St. Petersburg" as Cronstadt has been called, till the shadows of night fell around, and I could without risk of observation, join Whiskerandos in the hold.

He was in company with another rat, of rather a foreign appearance.

"My friend Dwishtswatshiksky here," said he, "tells me that we shall soon arrive at the capital of Russia."

"I am very glad to hear it!" cried I; "I long to be again on shore. If we had any means of landing here, I should not care if I stopped short of St. Petersburg." I had not forgotten the pies.

"You would doubtless, little brother, from natural association, like to visit Rat Island," said the stranger with the unpronounceable name.

"Rat Island!" exclaimed Whiskerandos and I at the same moment.

"That fortified island opposite to Cronstadt, lying across the bay upon which the place stands, and giving to its waters the appearance of a lake, was called Ratusare, or Rat's Island in the days of old."

"Not the only Rat's Island in the world," observed Whiskerandos; "we have one off the coast of Devon."

"And doubtless it still bears that name," said the Russian rat, with a graceful wave of his whiskers. "But things, alas! were altered here when the warriors of Peter the Great drove the Swedes from this island in 1703. The vanquished left behind them nothing but a great kettle, which in default of other trophy the Russians reared in triumph on a pole; so the name of the place has been changed since that time, and Rat Island is called Kettle Island."

"It is fortunate for us, sir rat," said I, (I did not venture to attempt to call him by his name,) "it is fortunate for us that before landing in a strange country, we have met with a friend so intelligent and well-informed as you appear to be."

He made me so many polite assurances of the gratification which he felt in making my acquaintance, the pleasure which it would give him to conduct us to the house in which he usually quartered in the city, and the pride which he would feel in showing us everything which he could hope would interest us, that we blunt English rats felt almost abashed at his excessive courtesy. He only followed the manners of his country, where the poorest labourer is quite overwhelming in his politeness.

Dwishtswatshiksky (we soon shortened his name to Wisky) was as good as his word. We kept close while the passengers landed at a magnificent quay at St. Petersburg; while the rapid tread of feet, loud voices, shouts and hurried movements, were heard above, not a rat ventured forth from his hiding-place. Alas! with every precaution, when we mustered before landing, our numbers were sadly diminished, though of rat pies we had heard no more. In darkness we a second time made a suspension bridge of the rope which bound the vessel to the shore, and with delight I found myself again upon land, a free denizen of earth, no longer cooped up in the narrow, dangerous prison of a vessel.

Wisky led the way, closely followed by Whiskerandos. They moved on so fast that I was in danger of losing sight of my guides, so apt was I to linger on my way to look at the wonders around me. It is a beautiful city, St. Petersburg; at least so it seemed to me in the moonlight. With its streets of palaces, its lively green roofs, sky-blue cupolas dotted with stars, gilt spires, columns, statues, and obelisks, it is a place not soon to be forgotten. If I might venture to suggest a fault, it is that all looks too perfectly new. Antiquity gives added interest to beauty,— at least such is the opinion of a rat. That which looks as if it had risen but yesterday, appears as though it might fall to-morrow.

"Would you believe it," said Wisky, "a great part of this splendid city is built upon piles! The foundation alone of yonder great church cost a million of rubles! There is a constant fight going on here between water and the efforts of man. To look at the fine buildings around us, you would say that man had secured the victory. He has thrown over the river a variety of bridges, stone, suspension, and pontoon, that can be taken to pieces at pleasure, to connect the numerous islands together, and has raised the most stately edifices on a trembling bog! But the water is not conquered after all! I have known houses burst asunder from the foundations giving way. I have seen a palace separated from the very steps that led up to its door. And in spring, when the snow melts which has been collecting for months, the horses can scarcely flounder along through the rivers of mud in the streets!"

"Does the water ever rise very high?" inquired Whiskerandos. This was no idle question on his part; he made it as a practical rat, who knew what it was to live in a cellar, and had no desire to be drowned.

"Ah, my dear brother!" replied the Russian rat, "many stories are still told of the fearful inundation which happened in 1824. Impelled by a furious west wind, the waters then rose to a fearful height, streamed through the streets, floated the carriages, made boats of the carts, nay, lifted some wooden houses right from the ground, and sent them floating about, with all their inhabitants in them, like so many men-of-war! Horses were drowned, and so, alas! were rats in terrible numbers. The trees in the squares were crowded with men, clinging to them like bees when they cluster! It is said that thousands of poor human beings perished, and that the inundation cost the city more than a hundred millions of rubles!"

"Well, St. Petersburg is a splendid place!" cried I; "but after all, the merry banks of the Thames, and dear dingy old London for me!"



CHAPTER XVI.

A RUSSIAN KITCHEN.

Under the guidance of Wisky we took up our abode in a Russian house. House did I call it!— if ever there was a palace this was one. We established ourselves in the kitchen; a warm, comfortable place we found it, where we had much opportunity for observation, both of the denizens of the place and their various occupations.

"It seems to me, Wisky," said I, on the night following that of our arrival, "that there is no end to the number of servants that pass in and out of this dwelling! Who is that fellow in the blue cloth caftan, fastened under his left arm with three silver buttons, and girded round the waist with a coloured silk scarf? His fine bushy beard seems to match the fur with which his high four-cornered cap is trimmed."

"That is the Tartar coachman," replied Wisky; "a dashing fellow is he, and a bold driver through the crowded streets of the city. The pretty youths yonder are the postilions. Young and small they must be, to suit the taste of a Russian noble. The worse for them, poor boys, as they are less able to endure the bitter cold of a winter's night, when, if they drop asleep on their horses, they are never likely to awake any more!"

"And are their masters actually cruel enough," I exclaimed, "to expose them to such suffering and risk?"

"My much esteemed brother," replied the Russian rat, "doubtless your clear mind has already come to the conclusion that selfishness is inherent in the human race. A young noble is at a ball; must he quit its bright enchantments, and the society of the fair whom he admires, because a bearded coachman is freezing without? A beauteous lady, wrapped in ermine and velvet, is weeping in the theatre over the woes of some imaginary heroine; would you have her dry her tearful eyes, and leave the scene of touching interest and elegant excitement, because icicles are hanging from the locks of her little postilion, and his head is gradually sinking on his breast, as the fatal sleep steals over him? Selfish!— yes, all human beings are selfish!"

"There are exceptions to that rule," thought I, for I remembered the stories which I had heard in the cabin; and I also recollected the conduct of their narrator, Captain Blake, towards the starving little thief in London.

"I have been trying," said Whiskerandos, "to count the servants in this house; but no sooner do I think that my task is done, than in comes some new one, speaking some different language, wearing some different costume, and puts all my calculations to fault."

"It would puzzle even one possessing the talents of my brother to count the number of the servants here," replied Wisky. "Why, even I, who, before my visit to England, spent months amongst the household, can scarcely number them now. To begin with the inmates of a higher rank, who never appear in the kitchen, there are the French governess and the German tutor, to polish up the minds of the children, and the family physician to look after their health. Then there are the superintendent of accounts, the secretary, the dworezki— he who has charge of the whole establishment, the valets of the lord, the valets of the lady, the overseer of the children, the footmen, the buffetshik or butler, the table-decker, the head groom, the coachman and postilions of the lord, the coachman and postilions of the lady,—"

"What!" cried Whiskerandos, "are their carriages so small that they will not hold two, or are the grandees afraid of quarrelling, that husband and wife cannot travel together!"

"Surely, Sir Wisky," exclaimed I, "you must have come to the end of your list!"

"Pardon me, little brother, not yet. There are the attendants on the boys and on the tutor, the porter, the head cook and the under cook, the baker, brewer, the waiting-maids and wardrobe-keeper of the lady, the waiting-maid who attends the French governess, the nurses that take care of the children, and the nurses that once took care of the children, the kapell-meister or head musician, and all the men of his band!"

"Well!" cried I, much amused, "at any rate a Russian noble must be well served. If he calls for his shoes, I suppose that half-a-dozen servants start off in a race to fetch them, and knock their heads together in their eagerness to get them!"

A valet at this moment entered the kitchen, where, secure in our hiding-place, we were watching all that passed.

"Where's Ivan?" said he, "where's Ivan?" The coachman, who was playing at draughts with the head groom, looked up for an instant, then silently made his move.

"My lady's a-fainting, and my lord's calling for water! Where's Ivan, I say? 'tis his business to fetch it."

"There's Ivan," said the cook, pointing contemptuously to a sandy-haired figure fast asleep under the table.

"Get up, ye lazy fellow!" exclaimed the valet; "my lady's fainting, my lord's calling for water; take a glass of it on a silver salver directly."

Ivan got up slowly, yawned, stretched himself, rubbed his eyes; then, taking a tumbler off the dresser, he leisurely filled it with water.

"And where am I to get the silver salver?" said he.

"That's in keeping of Matwei the buffetshik," observed the table-decker.

"And where is Matwei to be found?"

"Here you, Vatka," pursued the valet, turning to another attendant, who was busy over his basin of kwas, "go you to Matwei and tell him that we want a silver salver on which to carry a tumbler, for my lady's fainting up stairs, and my lord is calling for water."

A loud ring from above was heard, as if to enforce the order. "Sei tshas! sei tshas!— directly, directly!" called out Vatka; but he nevertheless finished his kwas, and wiped his mouth before he went to Matwei the butler to procure the silver salver on which Ivan the footman would carry the tumbler of water which Paul the valet had been ordered to bring.

Before all was ready another messenger came to tell Ilia the bearded coachman to put to the horses, for the lady was ready for her drive. It was evident that she had managed to recover from her fainting fit without the aid of the glass of water,— a happy thing for one who had the misfortune to keep fifty or sixty servants.

Wisky laughed at my look of surprise. "I believe that one pair of hands," said he, "often serve better than a dozen. The Russian proverb says that 'directly' means to-morrow morning, and 'this minute' this day week."

With quiet night came our feasting-time, and when the kitchen was deserted by the crowds of servants, Whiskerandos, Wisky, and I, crept softly out of our hole, provided with pretty sharp appetites for our meal.

"I am curious to taste that liquor which you call kwas," said I; "Vatka seemed to relish it exceedingly."

"Relish it, brother! I should think so!" exclaimed Wisky. "Kwas is to a Russian what water is to a fish; rich or poor could hardly bear existence without it."

"Not bad at all," said I, dipping my whiskers carefully into a bowl that had been set aside by the cook.

"Mind you don't tumble in, old fellow!" cried Whiskerandos, "and be drowned in kwas as I have heard that a duke once was drowned in wine."

"And what may this kwas be made of?" inquired I, after another approving sip.

"I ought to know, little brother," replied Wisky, "for many and many a time have I seen it brewed. A pailful of water is poured into an earthen jar, into which are shaken two pounds of barley-meal, half a pound of salt, and a pound and a half of honey. The whole is then placed in an oven with a moderate fire, and constantly stirred. It is left for a time to settle, and in the morning the clear liquor is poured off. In a week it is in the highest perfection."

"I wonder that kwas is not made in England," observed I; "but honey is not so plentiful there."

"Sugar would make a good substitute, I should think," said Wisky; "the beverage would not then be an expensive one. But here is our beloved Whiskerandos busy with his shtshee, the dish of all dishes in this country, that which nothing, I believe, could ever drive from the table or the heart of a Russian. When in a foreign land, it is said, it is not the remembrance of native hills or plains, or the tender delights of home, that draws tears into an exile's eyes, but the loss of his beloved shtshee, the favourite dish of his childhood."

"Leave a little for me!" I cried eagerly to Whiskerandos, who had nearly finished, by dint of steady perseverance, a portion which had been left in a plate. "Why," I added, as I tasted the liquid, "this seems to me simply cabbage soup!"

"Whatever my brother may think of it," observed Wisky, dipping his whiskers into the nearly empty plate, "he is now tasting that which forms the principal article of food of forty millions of human beings! Better live without bread than without shtshee."

"And the ingredients?" said I, for I always delighted to pick up any scrap of information interesting to a rat.

"There are almost as many ways of making shtshee as of cooking potatoes. I have seen six or seven cabbages chopped up small, half a pound of butter, a handful of salt, and two pounds of minced mutton added, the whole mixed up with a can or two of kwas. But it is now time, brothers, for us to sally forth. I must do the honours of this our city, and show my illustrious guests whatever I may deem worthy of their observation."



CHAPTER XVII.

A RAMBLE OVER ST. PETERSBURG.

"What a nation of painters Russia must be!" exclaimed I, as we quietly moved through the silent streets. Every shop had a picture before it, expressive of the occupation of its owner. Here was a tempting board covered with representations of every loaf and roll that a painter's fancy could devise; there a tallow-chandler did his best to make candles appear picturesque. Even from the second and third floors hung portraits of fiddles, and flutes, boots, shoes, caps, bonnets, and bears' grease, and on one board a sad likeness of a rat in a trap made us quicken our steps as we passed it.

We moved through a deserted market. Here whole lanes are devoted to the sale of a single kind of article. There is the stocking row, the shoe row, the hat row, at which it appeared that a whole nation might have provided covering for head and for feet.

"I wish, dear brother," said Wisky, "that your visit had been in the season of winter. I could then have led you to a market which strangers must indeed have surveyed with surprise. You would then have seen beasts, fishes, and fowls, all frozen so hard that the hatchet is required to divide them. You would have passed through rows of dead sheep standing upon their feet, motionless oxen that seemed ready to low, whole flocks of white hares appearing actually in motion, reindeer and elks on whose mighty horns the pigeons fearlessly perch!"

"The cold must then be fearful in winter," said I.

"Oh! the houses are kept so warm with stoves that there but little suffering is known. But woe to the men who loiter in the streets when they are paved with ice and glistening with snow! The passengers run for their lives, with the sharp wind rushing after them, as a cat after a mouse! Men cover even their faces with fur; but should an unlucky nose peep out from the warm shelter, the bitter frost often bites it on a sudden. "Father— father! thy nose!" thus will one stranger salute another as he passes; and if not speedily rubbed with snow, the nose of the poor passenger is lost! Men's very eyes are sometimes frozen up, and they have no resource but to beg admission at the first door to which they can grope, to unthaw their glued lashes at a stove!"

"All this is very curious," observed I, "but still I have little desire to witness it. The long winter must be dreary indeed!"

"The Russians are lively fellows," observed Wisky, "and instead of grumbling at dark skies and piercing blasts, they make merry where others would murmur. When winter must perforce be their companion, they oblige the grim old giant to add to their amusements. You should see the gay sledges as they dash at full speed over the frozen surface of the River Neva! and the ice-mountains which the people raise, and down which they glide swift as lightning, laughing, shouting, and singing! I have seen snow piled up to the very roof of a house; and down its steep slope, merely seated on a mat, a large merry party glide gaily to the ground. But," he cried, suddenly interrupting himself, "have a care where you tread, my brother, or you will be down into that ice-pit! Never was there such a place as St. Petersburg for these,— no large house is deemed complete without one. If Russians cannot be without abundance of ice in winter, they show that they will not be without it during their brief hot summer,— the quantities consumed could scarcely be believed!"

Whiskerandos, who had been lingering behind us, in a tempting quarter of the market, now scampered up and joined us. We were passing at the time a large building, and I could not avoid looking up in wonder at its strange columns. Of these there were no fewer than a hundred, and the capital of each was formed by three cannon, with their round open mouths yawning down into the street.

"This," said our guide, following the direction of my eyes, "is the Spass Preobrashenskoi Sabor; a church greatly adorned with the spoils of nations vanquished by Russia."

"Well," said Whiskerandos, who in the course of his adventurous life had both seen cannon and learnt their use, "perhaps those big instruments of war are just as well up there, where they are seen, and not heard or felt. Man is the only creature, I fancy, who, not content with what powers of destruction nature has given him, cuts down trees from the forest, digs iron from the mine, sets the furnace glowing, and the engine working, to fashion means of killing his brothers in a wholesale manner."

"Yonder," said Wisky, pointing with his nose, "are the father of the Russian fleet and the grandmother of the houses of St. Petersburg."

"Let's see them by all means!" I exclaimed; "I have viewed plenty of Russian ships and Russian houses, and I have a lively curiosity to see the father and the grandmother of so famous a family!"

Wisky rapidly led the way to a hut, into which with little difficulty we entered, for locks and bars do not keep out rats, nor surly porters refuse them admission.

"Is this the father of the Russian fleet!" exclaimed Whiskerandos rather contemptuously, running, audacious rat that he was, along the edge of a boat about thirty feet long. "Is Russia a child, that she should amuse herself with a toy, and keep a big boat under a roof where there is no water to float it, as if it were some delicate jewel!"

"On no jewel in the Emperor's crown," replied Wisky, "would a Russian look with the same interest as on that poor boat. Peter the Great helped to fashion it himself! He found his country without a navy, and he gave her one; he laboured himself as a common ship-wright: and now, as a mighty oak springs from a single acorn, in that one boat his people view with reverence "The father of the Russian fleet."

"And where is the grandmother of the houses?" inquired I.

"That is hard by," replied Wisky. "It is nothing but a small wooden cottage which Peter built for himself by the Neva, before a single street stretched across the dreary bog upon which he founded this city of palaces!"

And so we rambled on, light-hearted rats that we were, picking up scraps here and there, and exchanging observations, till a faint blush in the eastern sky warned us that it was time to go home. Before we reached the house already criers were abroad in the streets, screaming, "Boots from Casan!"— "Pictures from Moscow!"— "Flowers, fine flowers!" as they wandered on, carrying their wares on their heads. Fierce-looking fellows, with long shaggy hair and beards, wrapped up in skins were passing about, exchanging good-natured greetings, strangely in contrast with their appearance. "Good-day, brother! how goes it? what is your pleasure? how can I serve you?" Smiling, bowing, baring their rough heads to each other, these poor Russians appeared the very pictures of politeness shrouded in sheepskin. But remembering that even amongst the most civilized nations of the world, rats are considered as quite beyond the pale of courtesy, and that the most good-natured Musjik in this city would have thought nothing of hitting one of us over with his shoe, we thought it better to retreat while our skins were whole, and regain our comfortable quarters in the kitchen.



CHAPTER XVIII.

HOW WE WERE TRANSPORTED.

It was my intention, as well as that of Whiskerandos, after hearing of the cheerfulness of a Russian winter, and the comfort preserved in the houses, to remain to witness the ice-mountains, the frozen Neva, and, above all, the wonderful market which Wisky had described to us on that night.

Our intentions, however, were frustrated, and our projects of amusement defeated by an incident which suddenly altered the whole course of our affairs.

Whiskerandos, who was of a very bold and independent disposition, cared not to place himself constantly under the guidance of his Russian companion. He made forays by himself into the streets, moon or no moon, it was all one to him. He brought us back accounts of many singular adventures,— how he had been seen by a dog, chased by a cat, and nearly run over by a drosky, the name given to the vehicles which in St. Petersburg take the place of our London cabs.

"Have a care, brother, have a care! Even the brave may dare too much, and the fortunate venture once too often!" with such exclamations as these our courteous Russian rat would listen to the tales of such hair-breadth escapes.

The effect of his words upon me was to render me cautious,— timid perhaps you will call it. The only motives which usually roused me to encounter danger, were hunger, or overpowering curiosity. I liked to see all, hear all, and know all, and picked up scraps of general information with the same relish that I would have picked up scraps of cheese.

Once Whiskerandos came home in high spirits. He had made such a discovery, found such treasures,— been in the very place where of all others a rat might rejoice in boundless content.

Directly behind the Exchange he had found a large open space, fenced round with iron railing, which, while keeping out man, offered everywhere a door of welcome to rats. Here, protected by nothing but tarpaulin, was collected a quantity of goods, both those which had been imported into Russia, and those with which she paid back from her own productions the contributions of the world.

"Oh, the mountains of tallow which I saw there!" exclaimed Whiskerandos, executing a somerset in the air, in the excess of his admiration and delight.

"There may well be mountains, brother," observed Wisky, "since, besides the quantities which she uses herself, Russia is said to export every year about two hundred and fifty millions of pounds of tallow, of which above one half is shipped from St. Petersburg."

"Two hundred and fifty millions!" I exclaimed, almost breathless with amazement, "why, surely that is enough to light up the whole world, and feast every rat that is in it! I would give anything to see the place where such glorious mountains are to be found?"

"Trust yourself with me to-morrow night, and I will guide you to the place," said Whiskerandos.

Now commenced a conflict in my mind, caution pulling me one way, curiosity the other, while a discussion took place between my comrades, Wisky backing caution, Whiskerandos curiosity,— and the English rat won the day.

So that night off we two scampered together, and without accident or adventure reached the space at the back of the Exchange. Truly I was in a world of wonders! I actually revelled in everything that can charm the palate or the nose of a rat! Here was the division for Russian imports,— various and curious were they. There were chests of tea from China, coffee from Arabia, sugar from the West Indies, and English cotton goods, bales on bales piled up to a marvellous height. There was a quantity of tobacco, heaps of cheese, spices of all sorts and kinds. Now we came upon the odour of cinnamon or cloves; then the strong perfume of musk betrayed an importation from India.

No wonder that the hours passed unheeded while we lingered in this wonderful place! We passed on to the portion of the area devoted to Russian exports, and here we were, if possible, still more delighted! All the articles which Bright-eyes had mentioned as coming from Russia were here; we were bewildered amongst heaps of furs, piles of leather, barrels of tallow, and prodigious quantities of corn! Morn was breaking, indeed, but we could not tear ourselves away, till the sounds of life, and the signs of motion around us, alarmed me with the idea that it was too late to retreat.

"Let's bury ourselves in this corn-sack," cried I, "we can sleep here very well during the day, and recommence our explorations after dark."

Whiskerandos acceded to my proposition. Quiet we kept, very quiet. Noisier the world seemed to grow, till at length voices were heard so alarmingly near, that I crouched closer to my companion in terror!

Then— oh! the horrible sensation which I experienced,— never shall I forget it! I felt that our sack was roughly pushed by some one, then suddenly lifted on high!

"We are lost!" I gasped to Whiskerandos. Then another sort of motion succeeded, accompanied by a heavy rumbling sound, like that of the rolling wheel of a truck. Every hair of mine quivered with fear!

"Whiskerandos! oh, Whiskerandos! if they should be carrying us to a mill!— if we should be ground into powder between two great stones!"

"Be quiet and never despair," was the answer of the bold-hearted rat.

I believe that that terrible journey did not last long, but to me the time appeared an age! Every turn of the grating wheel beneath me sent a pang of anguish through my frame! At last the truck, if such it were, stopped; in a few minutes the sack was again rudely moved, carried aloft, and then tumbled, with its living contents, down— down— we could not tell where!

What a shock it gave me, that tumble! I lay for some seconds quite stunned. My first impulse, when I recovered a little, was bitterly to bewail my condition, and to reproach him who had brought me into it.

"Oh that I had been content with my kwas and my shtshee! Oh that I had never left the kitchen! that I had never ventured forth with a reckless companion, who would, I believe, play at hide and seek with a cat, or nibble at the pocket of a rat-catcher!"

My tone was, I knew, both peevish and provoking; and many a brown rat, in the position of my companion, would have stopped my doleful squeaking at once by giving me something to squeak for. But Whiskerandos, whatever were his faults, was above that mean one of quarrelling with those who found them out, or attempting to screen and defend them.

"Ratto, I am sorry that I have led you into trouble," said he. "I wish that I could suffer alone for my self-will and imprudence. But since no regrets can recall the past, let us not make our miseries greater by reproaches and dissension between those who may soon die, as they have lived, together."

His mildness quite overcame any feeling of bitterness in my heart; and hope revived as some time elapsed without fresh cause for alarm occurring.

"I wonder where we are!" exclaimed I, shaking myself into a more easy position.

"I fancy that I hear the creaking of a windlass!" cried Whiskerandos.

"And the flapping of canvass!" added I. "And I smell tar."

"A strong odour of tar! Depend upon it, we are down in the hold of a ship!"

"Ha! that's the ripple of water! she moves,— she moves!"

We were again afloat on the waters!



CHAPTER XIX.

A STORM AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

"Farewell St. Petersburg, stately city! with thy flat green roofs, and star-spangled domes! Farewell merry-hearted, sandy-haired Russians, bearded Tartars, gay Circassians,— never may we behold you again! Farewell kwas and shtshee, and all the luxuries for too brief a time enjoyed! Where are we going now,— where!"

Such were the complaints which I was wont to pour out during the long tedious voyage which succeeded. Whiskerandos never grumbled, it was not in his nature; he quietly fed on his corn without uttering one melancholy word: but I suspected that he, like myself, associated sailors with rat pies; and to hear any one approach the hold, drove me almost wild with terror.

That was a horrible voyage! A fearful tempest came on before the vessel readied the place of her destination, whatever that might be. The winds whistled and raged, and the ship reeled and plunged like a restive horse; and again and again torrents of salt water came sweeping down into the hold! Then, as the furious storm continued, the very seams of the ship seemed to open like pores, to let in the sea, which was knocking and raging without for admittance, till at length the hold became like a ditch, which we rats could not cross but by swimming!

Then the pumps were set to work— I could hear the men toiling at them day and night; yet the water gained on them notwithstanding their efforts. There were tremendous noises on deck; I fancied once or twice that I could distinguish human cries; and what with the constant splashing of the water as the vessel rolled heavily from side to side, and the bumping and thumping of some casks that had got loose, and were smashing against one another, and the shouting, and the roaring of wind and waves, there was enough to stun and terrify any creature, be he quadruped or biped!

Such of the corn as remained in our sack was becoming so soft from salt water that it had acquired the consistence of a pudding. But we had now no heart even to eat!

We had so often heard the captain's voice raised to give loud orders, that we had ceased to pay any particular attention to them, little dreaming that any would concern us further than as they regarded the safety of the vessel. But at length the result of an order to lighten the ship was speedily felt in the hold! Our sack (for we still made it our hiding-place) was suddenly lifted with others; and before we had time even to guess what was intended, splash we went into the sea!

Ugh! how the water bubbled in our ears! What frantic efforts we made to free ourselves from the sack! Nor were those efforts without success, for we had long ago gnawed the string which fastened its mouth: it opened with the motion of the waves, and corn, rats and all, floated upon the surface of the raging billows!

Down in two seconds went the corn, swallowed up by the sea; still we struggled, drowning rats that we were, to save ourselves by desperate swimming. Of course our strength must soon have been exhausted, and the mighty green waves must have swept us to destruction, had not a barrel, thrown out from the ship, been happily floating near us!

Whiskerandos saw this little island of hope. As for me, I was too much frightened and confused to look around me; but I instinctively followed where he led, and soon found myself, shivering, shaking, dripping with wet, and looking as wretched as a rat can look, on the floating barrel beside my friend!

How we shook our glistening sides, and shuddered and gazed disconsolately round us on the wide waste of waters, lashed into long streaks of angry foam! Alas! there was no land in sight; but then the white mist rested on the horizon, which shut out the distant view.

"If we are not drowned we shall be starved!" exclaimed I, very piteously, to Whiskerandos. Alas! our barrel was empty.

Oh! the misery endured that day, and the terrible night which succeeded! We had no resource but to gnaw at the tasteless wood. We were surrounded with water, yet perishing with thirst! pinched by hunger, without hope of relief! Better to have been drowned at once; better to have fallen by the paw of a mouser, or to have been caught like my brothers in a trap, than to be dying thus by inches on a barrel, tossed in the midst of the sea!

But with the gray morning hope dawned! We perceived that our little island had drifted near to some shore. The waves were now much more quiet, and leapt on the beach with a pleasant murmur, and strove to roll on, each farther than the other, like children merrily racing together.

"Could we not swim to the shore?" said Whiskerandos.

But I recoiled from the dangerous attempt. "No, no; some wave will roll the barrel on the beach," I replied; "no more struggling in the water for me!"

And the waves, bearing the barrel on their green backs, seemed often ready to land it safely on shore, but each time changed their minds, and kept it bobbing up and down, while they retired back with a grating noise over the pebbles, as if mocking our distress and impatience.

"We are farther off now than we were ten minutes ago," said Whiskerandos. "Perhaps the tide is on the turn. Pluck up a brave heart, and let's dash in like rats!" and he plunged fearlessly into the water.

But for the sharp spur of hunger, I fear that I should have left him to make the bold attempt alone; but, famished as I was, I resolved to swim for my life. With a sudden effort I sprang into the waves; and so, following in the wake of my companion, I struggled in safety to the shore!

Oh! the delight of feeling dry ground again!— of standing once more on the firm, solid earth! Never, never again, I firmly resolved, would I venture in any vessel, or trust my life to the mercy of the billows that had so nearly accomplished our destruction.



CHAPTER XX.

CATCH HIM— DEAD OR ALIVE!

We made a hasty breakfast off a star-fish that we found stranded on the beach; but this rather increased our painful thirst, and to find some means of quenching it we hurried inland at the utmost speed which our weakened powers could command. We had not run far before we came to a large house.

"There is sure to be a supply of water here," said Whiskerandos. "Let us explore the place."

"I fancy that I hear a dripping!" I cried eagerly, as we approached the door of the back-yard.

The door was indeed closed, and sharp bits of broken bottles, on the top both of it and the brick wall, rendered it impossible to climb over them; but I— my wit quickened by my painful thirst— discovered in a moment that, at the bottom of the door, part of the wood had been broken away, either by time or perhaps the teeth of our brethren, leaving an opening just large enough for a rat easily to creep through.

I was not one to venture on an unexplored region, so I looked anxiously through into the yard.

At the opposite side of it there was— oh, joyful sight!— a pump, from which drop by drop fell, with a most inviting sound, into a trough below. And yet, faint with thirst as I was, the place had an aspect which alarmed me, and made me fear to venture across the yard. Not far from the pump, and between it and us, was an open green door, which led into a garden or pleasure-ground, and though I could see nothing to alarm me, my quick ear distinguished suspicious sounds in that direction.

"In with you!" exclaimed Whiskerandos, impatiently. "Don't keep me here, dying with thirst at the hole."

I drew back with a gesture of caution. "Whiskerandos," said I, "I don't like the green door open yonder. If any one came through it into the yard and cut off our retreat!"

"Nothing dare, nothing win!" he exclaimed; "I am thirsty and I must have water:" and, hurrying through the little opening which I have mentioned, he was soon eagerly drinking at the trough.

Hesitating, doubting, I was about to follow him, and already my nose was through the hole, when a sight, at the remembrance of which I shudder still, made me withdraw it instanter. Through the fatal green door near the pump, a young man, with his hands in his pockets and his cap cocked on one side, followed by several dogs, leisurely sauntered into the yard.

I saw in an instant that for Whiskerandos escape was impossible. He had the whole length of the yard to cross; his foes were far nearer to him than me. His only chance was that of not being perceived; but this in broad daylight, with the noses of three or four dogs not two yards from him, was a miserable chance indeed. The dogs instantly found him out, and were at him in a moment. My unhappy companion darted behind the trough, quick as a flash of lightning. I felt assured that he would there bravely defend himself to the last; but what could one poor rat do, albeit the boldest of his race, against such terrible odds!

"Ha! a rat!" exclaimed the young man, looking quite amused and pleased— barbarian that he was!— at the prospect of seeing a poor defenceless creature torn to pieces before him. "Ha! Carlo, give it him!— shake him by the ear!" The young man actually laughed aloud with delight!

I could not see Whiskerandos, for the trough was between us: I fancied his look of fierce despair as he faced the foes from whom he could not flee, and from whom he could expect no pity. He had evidently got into some corner, from which the dogs could not easily dislodge him; for they stood yelping and barking, showing their white teeth, with their greedy eyes all turned to one point.

So the human savage came to their aid. Having taken up a stick which happened to be lying on the ground near, while the dogs retired a step to allow their master to give his ungenerous assistance, he pushed the stick behind the trough, and by its means dragged poor Whiskerandos from his last place of refuge!

"Ha! the fellow's dead! I must have killed him with the stick!" cried the young man; and stooping down he lifted up the poor rat by the tail, and held him aloft to examine him more closely, while the dogs leapt and barked around, eager to tear their victim limb from limb!

"He's been in the wars— lost his ears!" laughed the young man, still holding the stiffened body on high by the tail. "I'm sorry I poked him with the stick; he'd have given us some sport with the dogs!" Did ever such a heartless monster walk on two feet before!

"Oh! Whiskerandos! Whiskerandos!" thought I, as, almost rooted to the spot with horror, I stood gazing on the pitiful sight. "I am glad that you are dead! oh, I am glad that you are dead! bravest, noblest of rats, they can torture you no more!"

The dogs showed by their impatient movements that they considered that their master took a great deal too much time in his survey of a lifeless rat I suspect that he only did so to tease and tantalize them, for suddenly raising Whiskerandos still higher, to give more force to his fling, he cried, "Now Carlo— Rover— Caesar— who's first!" and swung the body away towards the door behind which I stood a trembling, shuddering spectator!

But lo and behold! no sooner did the seemingly dead rat touch the ground, than he found life, strength, and speed in a moment! The dogs were after him like the wind, but the very force of the fling had given him a good start, and he was through the opening under the door, knocking me over as he pushed past, almost before I could recall my scattered senses sufficiently to understand that he was actually alive! I have some remembrance of the young man's exclamation of amazement as the dead rat found his feet and disappeared,— his shout, and the yells of the disappointed dogs,— but I recollect no more, for I heard no more. Whiskerandos and I had a fair start, and we made the best of it, and scampered off as rats scamper for their lives. Well for us that that door was locked!— well for us that there were broken bits of bottles on the top! well for us that the hole was too small for the passage of any thing larger than a rat!

I do not think that we were pursued: perhaps the unlocking of the door took our foe too much time, perhaps he did not think it worth while to hunt down such ignoble game, or perhaps he considered (but this I much doubt) that the cleverness which a rat had shown in making so extraordinary an escape, entitled him to a little indulgence. But we ran as though a whole pack of hounds were behind us; we never paused to take breath or look behind us, till we had buried ourselves in a corn-field.

"And are you really unhurt?" I exclaimed, when we stopped at last, panting and exhausted.

"Unhurt? yes!— only bruised by the fling,— it was well that the yard was not paved with stones."

"And you were really alive and had your senses while that savage was holding you up with your head hanging down! Why, you looked as like a dead rat as ever I saw one!"

"I was wide awake all the time," said Whiskerandos, "but I knew that it was my only chance to feign death. This has been a narrow escape, Ratto; I was never so near being torn to pieces before, not even in my fight with the ferret!"

"I'll never go near a house in daylight again!" exclaimed I, still trembling with excitement and terror. Whiskerandos appeared to feel the effects of the fright less than I did, though his danger had been so much greater.

"It is your thirst that makes you so nervous," said he; "you have not yet recovered from our voyage on the barrel. There seems to be a wet ditch around this field; come and moisten your nose in the water."

The relief was certainly great, and as I drank the cool liquid, I felt my spirits revive.

"I wonder where we are now!" said I.

"I have no doubt on the subject,— we are in old England again! The look of the house, the hedges, the fields, that young fellow—"

"Oh! don't speak of him!" I exclaimed, "cruel, barbarous monster that he is!"

"You are too hard on him," said Whiskerandos, in his own frank, good-humoured manner. "He may be no worse than the rest of his species, who think that there is no harm in being cruel to a rat. I suspect that even your blue-eyed friend would shout with joy to see a cat worry a mouse!"

"I don't believe it!" I replied indignantly; "a generous and noble heart can never take pleasure in seeing pain inflicted on a poor defenceless creature!"

"Ah, but—" Whiskerandos commenced, but our conversation was suddenly interrupted by a little squeak from the hedge close behind us.

"I think that I know that voice!" exclaimed I, and I had hardly uttered the sentence ere from the thick covert sprang the well-remembered form of Bright-eyes!



CHAPTER XXI.

A NEW KIND OF WATCH-DOG.

What a rubbing of noses ensued! after all my travels and perils it was such joy to see again the face of a friend! I had so much also to relate, (I have ever been a loquacious rat,) that I almost lost breath in my long narration. I wound up my account with a description of the last adventure of Whiskerandos, who was now, in my eyes, ten times more a hero than before.

"And now that I have told you my news," said I, "let's hear a little of yours. In the first place, where is old Oddity?"

Bright-eyes hung down his head, and drooped his long tail in a touching and melancholy manner. Such conduct in so lively a rat showed me at once that my last surviving brother was dead!

"How did it happen?" was all that I could say.

"Not a week after our arrival in these parts, he was caught in a hay-rick by a farmer!" faltered Bright-eyes. "I saw him seized by the neck, I heard his despairing cry; I could not stay to see the poor fellow killed, and I was afraid of sharing his fate, so I made off as fast as I could."

"Poor Oddity!" sighed I very mournfully, "never was there an uglier nor a better-hearted rat! Ah! what pleasure I vainly promised to myself in relating to you all my adventures! I have been across the deep waters, encountered various perils, now in danger of being cooked in a pie, now shivering on a barrel in the ocean, and yet here am I safe and sound after all; while you, remaining quietly in England, have ignominiously perished in a hay-rick!"

Whiskerandos, who, being a brown rat, could not be expected to feel the same regret as myself, now turned towards Bright-eyes, and asked him how far we were from London— "For I long to be back in my old quarters," said he.

"A fortnight's journey for a rat, should he travel by land," replied Bright-eyes: "we came down very comfortably in a river boat, which carried us to within five miles of this spot."

"I have had enough of water for some time," said Whiskerandos; "and now that the fields are full of ripe corn, and the gardens of fruit, nothing so pleasant as a journey by land! What say you, friend Ratto?" inquired he.

"I have no mind for a long journey either by land or by sea," replied I in a melancholy tone; "I'll keep company with you for a day or two, Whiskerandos, but I would rather not return now to London. I will settle quietly for a time in the country near the spot where poor Oddity died!"

"And you?" said Whiskerandos, turning to Bright-eyes.

The lively rat shook his ears with all his natural vivacity. "Pardon me," he cried, "but I'm of Oddity's opinion,— heroes like Sir Whiskerandos are the very worst travelling companions in the world! How Ratto has escaped with his life I cannot imagine, but I shall certainly not try the experiment of following your fortunes for an hour! I've no fancy to be baked in a pie, or starved on a barrel, crushed by a drosky, or worried by a dog, drowned in a sack, or suspended by my tail! No, no, valiant Whiskerandos, I'm quite content to admire your courage at a distance, but I don't want to share your exploits, and would rather have my ears than your fame!"

And off skipped the merry little rat, before we could say a word to stay him.

Whiskerandos and I, being weary enough with the adventures through which we had passed, slept for the greater part of that day in the field, and wandered about during the night in a not vain search for food.

The next day was remarkably hot. It was the season of harvest, and we felt the necessity of keeping quietly concealed, as many men, and women also, were busily engaged in the fields. The heat, however, produced thirst, and no water was near in which we could quench it.

"I say, Ratto," observed Whiskerandos, "do you see yonder object, near that sheaf, that glitters so brightly in the sun?"

"It is a can," replied I, "doubtless belonging to one of the reapers."

"I should not wonder if there were a hunch of bread and cheese beside it," said Whiskerandos.

"I should not be surprised if there were."

Whiskerandos remained for a minute in silence, then said, "I want to compare English beer with Russian kwas."

"You are not going into the field!" I cried in alarm.

"I am going,— why, there is nothing to fear; there is not a reaper near, and if there were, he would need to be a sharp fellow who could catch a rat in an open field!"

So the daring fellow went on his way, and I, after peeping cautiously on this side and that, to make sure that no human being could see us in the stubble, hurried after my companion, being to the full as curious as himself to make acquaintance with the contents of the can.

There was a bundle of something beside it, tied up in a large red handkerchief, something of a very inviting odour. But scarcely had Whiskerandos, who was foremost, touched the reaper's dinner with the end of his whiskers, when something jumped up suddenly from behind the bundle, and the voice of a rat fiercely exclaimed,— "Keep off, or I'll bite you!"

Whiskerandos looked surprised at the unexpected defiance, but my feelings of amazement can scarcely be conceived when I recognised, (could it be!) the dumpy form, blunt head, and piebald skin of my lost brother Oddity!

I rushed forward with a squeak of delight! No doubt, though less eager and excited in his manner, Oddity also was greatly pleased at meeting with his brother again. He looked, however, suspiciously from the handkerchief to Whiskerandos, and again desired him to "keep off," with a resolution of which I had never dreamed the piebald rat capable.

"What is in that bundle, that you guard it so carefully?" said I, after we had rubbed noses again and again, with every expression of affection.

"The property of my master," replied my brother.

"Master!" exclaimed both Whiskerandos and I in amazement, "who ever heard of the master of a rat! Since when have you taken upon yourself the office of a watch-dog, to guard what belongs to our enemy, man?"

"Since man first showed mercy to one of the race of Mus, since he spared a defenceless rat when in his power. I know you, Whiskerandos, I know you," continued Oddity, the hairs bristling up on his back, as my companion, either in jest or earnest, took the corner of the handkerchief between his sharp teeth: "you are reckoned a hero amongst rats, but I too can fight in defence of what is confided to my charge; you have killed a ferret, and you may kill me, but while I have a tooth in my jaw, or a drop of blood in my body, you shall not touch a crumb belonging to my master!"

Whiskerandos would have been more than a match for three Odditys, for the piebald one had neither his strength, nor agility, nor experience in fighting; but the strong rat seemed at this juncture to have no inclination to give battle to the weak one. I hope that it will be considered no sign of cowardice on his part, that he quietly dropped the corner of the handkerchief, and never even attempted to examine the contents of the can.

Of course I was all curiosity to know every particular of my brother's deliverance. In his own quiet, homely way, he told me his simple tale, keeping, however, all the time, a watchful eye upon the bundle beside him, while Whiskerandos acted the part of a sentinel to give me timely warning if any human being should approach so near as to endanger our safety. I will tell the story of Oddity as nearly as I can in his own words, I only wish that I could describe the expression of his bluff, honest face, at various parts of his narration.



CHAPTER XXII.

THE FARMER AND HIS BRIDE.

"I was caught one evening in a hay-rick. A swift-footed creature like you, Whiskerandos, might perhaps have escaped, but I was never remarkable for agility or speed. I felt a strong hand grasping me by the back of my neck, and I gave myself up for lost.

"'Well, here's an odd creature,— a piebald rat! I take it that's quite a curiosity!' cried the farmer who held me in his grasp. I expected that he would dash me against the wall the next moment, and then set his heel upon my poor body!

"'I wonder whether Mary ever saw the like of it before,' he continued, examining me with attention; 'I'll put it in the empty wire-cage, and try if I cannot tame it for her.'

"Here was a reprieve, and a most unexpected one. No one who has not believed himself to be just on the point of being smashed, can tell how glad I was when I was set loose from the farmer's terrible gripe, though only to find myself in a cage!

"But soon the longing for liberty came. I attempted to gnaw through the wires, but they resisted my utmost efforts. The farmer watched me, spoke to me, gave me food— treated me like a creature that could feel. That man has a gentle and kindly heart! At length I grew accustomed to my master, and to see him approach my prison with food was the only pleasure of my life. He ventured his finger between the bars, and I never attempted to bite it. He released me at last from my cage, and gave me a far warmer, snugger home— in the pocket of his own great-coat!"

At this point in the story Whiskerandos and I uttered expressions of amazement.

"Wherever he went," continued Oddity, "I went too. He taught me many things altogether new to a rat. It is our nature to take what we can get,— he taught me to see food and not to touch it! He never suffered me to feel hungry: he conversed with me as though I were a little companion, and never one blow did I receive from his hand, or one kick from his heel! It was not in the nature of a quadruped to be insensible to kindness like this!"

"And yet you owed it all to your piebald coat!" exclaimed I. "Never was beauty such an advantage to a four-footed beast as ugliness has been to you!"

"I found," pursued Oddity very quietly, "that Will Grange, my master, was going to London, to be married to the young woman whom he had spoken of as Mary. We travelled to the city together, I snugly sleeping, coiled up in his pocket."

"And were you given to the lady?" said Whiskerandos.

"I was placed before her on a table, in a quiet little back-parlour, in which she and my master sat together. She admired my appearance."

"No, no!" interrupted I, "that's impossible, I can believe anything but that!"

"Well, then, she wished to gratify my master by appearing to do so. She praised me, and fed me from her hand, and said that such a rat she never had seen in her life. Then I crept under my master's chair, and there very quietly remained, while he and his Mary talked over future plans together.

"He told her of the various things that he had bought to make his home more comfortable for his wife. How he had planted the garden himself with all her favourite flowers, and twined honeysuckle over his porch. Then he took her hand within his own, and in a lower and softer voice asked her if she were happy.

"'Very happy,' she replied, looking on the ground, while her cheek grew like a cloud at sunrise; 'only I cannot help feeling sorry,' —her voice trembled a little as she spoke,— 'sorry to leave father, and home, and the dear children in the ragged school whom I have taught so long!' I fancy," continued my brother, "that something like a dewdrop glistened on her lashes.

"'Well, Mary,' said the farmer heartily, 'father will come and see us; and as for your old home, why, you get a new one in exchange, and fair exchange is no robbery, you know. Then for your ragged children, why, I'm wanting an active, steady boy on my farm, and though I've no great fancy for your pale-faced Londoners, yet if you know any really good one, we'll take him down with us into Kent.'

"You should have seen how much pleased the young teacher looked! She knew one, she said, a poor motherless boy,— she would be so glad to give him a helping hand. He was one of the best boys in the school,— she would trust him in a room full of gold!

"So it was agreed between them that she should speak to the lad, and tell him to call in the evening.

"In the evening he accordingly came. I had again taken my place under the farmer's chair, and was just falling into a doze, when I was roused by a gentle knock at the door. Mary's cheerful 'Come in!' was followed by the entrance of,— whom do you think?"

"Bob and Billy!" I exclaimed at a venture.

"Yes, Bob and Billy!" repeated Oddity, with a look of great glee; "I had never thought to have seen them again! And they were so changed, I should scarcely have known them. Bob, in particular, looked so much taller, and stronger, and oh! so much happier than he had done last year! He was no more the wretched, joyless, hopeless creature, cowering in rags, one that even rats might look on with pity; he had a bright, fearless eye, and hopeful smile; and if ever a face expressed gratitude and affection, it was his when he looked on his gentle young teacher!

"'I beg pardon for bringing Billy,' said he, modestly but frankly, 'I was afraid to let him go home quite alone.'

"The farmer spoke in his kindly manner to the boy. He offered him a place on his farm, and Bob's eyes sparkled, and his cheek flushed with pleasure. It was but for a minute; the brightness and the glow faded away as he glanced down at his little lame brother. I saw that Billy was squeezing his hand,— that squeeze served all the purpose of words.

"'Thank 'ee, sir,' said the boy, glancing first at the farmer, then at his teacher, 'but I think as how— I should rather— leastways I had better stay and earn my bread here in Lunnon.'

"'And how do you earn it?' inquired the farmer.

"'Please, sir, I clean boots,'* answered the boy; 'I am one of the yellow brigade.'

"There was such a look of cheerful independence on the little fellow's face, that no one could have glanced at him and doubted that his bread was honestly earned.

"'And would you rather stay here and rub in blacking,' said the farmer, 'than be out in the open fields? Yours is an odd taste, I take it! Would you not rather come with us?'

"'Oh, sir!' said Bob, uneasily, shifting from one foot to the other, while Billy was squeezing his hand harder than ever, and looking half ready to cry, as he pressed closer to his side; 'you see I could not leave him behind,— poor lame Billy, he's no one to care for him but me.'

"'That's it, is it!' cried the farmer, clapping his knee. 'Well, Mary, what say you? could we take the two with us do you think? If they've always been together, poor fellows, 'twould be a pity to part them now!'

"Bob's only answer was a look of pleasure and gratitude, but little Billy almost burst into tears of delight as he exclaimed, 'Oh, yes! please, sir, take me too!— take me too! I'll do anything,— I'll work,— I'll make baskets for your fruit.'

"'And coops for my poultry, hey? We'll find some way of making you useful.' And he turned to Mary with that smile which I think that all human beings wear when they are doing some act of kindness.

"I was so much pleased," continued Oddity, "at this conclusion to the affair, that I ran out from my place beneath the chair. Billy uttered a cry of surprise:

"'There— look! if that an't my own pretty spotted rat!'"

Here I rather rudely interrupted my piebald brother. "Pretty! did he call you pretty? well, well, I shall be obliged to think you so myself, I suppose. Spared by a man, petted by a woman, admired by a child,— and all for your beauty,— Oddity's beauty!" I could not help laughing outright at the thought.

"My ugliness has at least done me no harm," he replied, with a meekness which made me more ashamed of my rudeness than if he had fired up at my ridicule.

"And so you live all together here?" said Whiskerandos; "this farmer, his wife, the two boys, and you?"

"Yes, and we are as happy as the day is long."

"Humph!" said Whiskerandos; "I should prefer my wild freedom; but it is different, I suppose, with man. And as for you, Oddity, you were never like other rats; you were always intended for a watch-dog. And you really guard that can and parcel for hours, and resist the temptation to nibble?"

"I am trusted," was the simple reply.

"Now, Oddity," said I, "I should much like to see you in your new home, surrounded by all your human companions."

"Yonder is my master's house," answered Oddity, pointing across the field with his nose. "You have but to clamber up to the window in the evening, and peep through the clustering roses, and you will see us all there together."

"I'll have a peep," said Whiskerandos, "and then off to old London again!"

"You must take nothing from my master's house," cried Oddity.

"Not a potato paring!" laughed our valiant companion.

"And now I would advise you to be off," said my brother; "here's my master coming for his dinner."

Away we scampered at full speed, my light-footed comrade and I; for well we knew what was certain to be our fate if caught even by the kind-hearted farmer. We were only rats after all.

[* In the course of a single year no less than two thousand nine hundred and eighty-one pounds were honestly earned in this manner by 132 boys connected with ragged schools!]



CHAPTER XXIII.

A PEEP THROUGH THE ROSES.

That night, when the round harvest moon was throwing her soft light on the earth, we climbed up the rose-tree by the window, and, quietly pushing aside the fragrant flowers, peeped in upon such a scene as rarely meets the eye of a rat.

There was a neat little kitchen, with a sanded floor and white-washed walls, so clean, so perfectly clean, that not even the sharp eyes of the race of Mus could have detected a speck upon them. Rows of plates lined the shelves on the wall, pans burnished till they shone like silver, a framed sampler hung over the mantelpiece, and a large clock merrily ticked behind the door. Near the wide hearth there was a table, on which a substantial supper was spread on a cloth white as new-fallen snow.

Round this table were seated the farmer, his wife, and our two old friends, Bob and Billy, in their clean smock-frocks, with country roses on their once sickly and sunken cheeks. One might have read Will Grange's character in his kind, honest face; and his wife looked like a morning in May, all sweetness, brightness, and beauty,— such beauty as is not merely skin-deep.

The farmer tapped gaily on the table, and at the signal, Oddity, whom I had not at first perceived, clambered up to his knee, and from thence jumped on the cloth, to be fed from his master's hand. He made his round of the party,— every one had something to give him; and I heard the merry voice of Billy as he patted his favourite's snub nose,— "He's a pretty little fellow! now, an't he? I wonder what's become of the old blind rat that he used to lead about in the shed?"

"Whiskerandos," said I, pensively, to my companion, "I could almost wish myself in Oddity's place!"

"So do not I," he replied quickly, as he turned from the window. "One rat in ten millions may be petted and trusted, and show himself worthy of the trust; but our race was never intended by nature to hold the position of lap-dogs or cats."

"And are we always to be hated by the lords of creation, never to be useful to man?"

"We are useful to man," said my companion.

"Ah! in those places where he bakes us in pies, or makes hats or glove-thumbs of our poor skins. But in London—"

"When you join me in London I will show you, friend Ratto, how, by acting the part of a scavenger, and clearing away that which, if left, would poison the air, the race of Mus does good service to man."

"Little man thanks us for it!" cried I.

"Well, Bob," said the farmer, as he leant back in his chair, and watched, with an air of amusement, his piebald favourite nibbling at a nut, "is it true what my good wife here tells me, that the post this morning actually brought a letter for you?"

"From Master Neddy," exclaimed Bob, with sparkling eyes.

"He's come back from Russy, and so has his father, and they're so glad to be in old England again," cried Billy, as in old times the most ready to speak. "The letter was sent first to the school,— the dear old school!— for they warn't to know that missus was married, and we so snug down here in the country. Oh! won't they be pleased to hear it? And is it not good in them, after all their travels, not to forget poor boys like us? Do you know, there was money in the letter?" he added, lowering his voice.

"Ah! Captain Blake did you some good turn, did he not?" said the farmer to Bob.

"He saved me from—" the boy coloured and paused,—

"From want, I suppose," said Grange, ending his sentence for him, and stroking back Oddity's sleek ears.

"From worse," said Bob, looking down.

"Not from death?"

"Worse than that," murmured the boy.

"Eh?" said the farmer, in surprise.

"But for him what should I have been now! Oh sir!" cried Bob, suddenly raising his eyes, "I've often thought I should have told you this before,— before you took me in here,— me and my brother too,— and treated us so kindly, and trusted us and all. You should have known what I was before that day when Captain Blake— bless him for it!— first took me into a ragged school."

"My business is with what you are, not what you were," said the farmer, kindly; but Bob did not seem to hear the interruption, for he continued, in an agitated voice, the tears rising into and then overflowing his eyes:— "He found me a poor, ignorant, miserable creature, not knowing so much as that it was a sin to take what was not my own. He found me with no comfort and no hope, going on the broad way which leads to the prison and the gallows; and worse,— worse beyond,— I know that now. He found me a wretched thief, and he did not hate me, despise me, despair of me: he gave me a chance, he gave me a friend! Blessings on him!— he saved me from ruin!"

Here let me drop the curtain, here let me close my tale. These are feelings, these are scenes, into which higher beings alone can enter; they are too solemn for a story like mine.

And here I and my companions divide;— I to luxuriate for awhile in the plenty with which rich autumn crowns the fields around; my bold comrade to return to the city, and there, in new adventures, to display a sagacity and courage which even the lords of the creation would admire if belonging to any race but ours; Oddity, in the happy home of his kind master, remains to share the board and the hearth,— an instance that even a rat can show fidelity to man, where man can show mercy to a rat!

Perhaps the human race would despise us less proudly, and persecute us less severely,— perhaps even boys would take less pleasure in torturing, worrying, and hunting us down,— if our characters and instincts were better known. Who can say that some truth may not be learned, some lesson of kindliness gained, even from a narration simple as mine,— the history of

THE RAMBLES OF A RAT.

[Decoration]



* * * * *



Transcriber's note:

"The Family of Mus" (Chapter VII):

By some classifications, all the animals that appear in this chapter are part of the superfamily Muroidea within the rodent family.

German Hamster: Cricetus cricetus, the black-bellied hamster. The European hamster is at least twice the size of the Syrian or golden hamster. Its personality is much as described. Musk-rat: Ondatra zibethicus Lemming: Lemmus lemmus "... the Musk Cavy, which I have heard of as inhabiting Ceylon and other places in the East" Possibly the hutia, Capromys pilorides, although hutias are indigenous to the West Indies, especially Cuba, not Asia.

Errors and Inconsistencies noted by Transcriber:

The inconsistent handling of nested quotes, with single ' or double " quotation marks for the inner quote, is unchanged. Where two closing quotation marks are expected, only one was printed:

Ch. V. ... I will not lose sight of you, my friend." Ch. XVII. ... father of the Russian fleet."

The word "invisible" means that the letter or punctuation mark is absent, but there is an appropriately sized empty space.

Ch. V. He told me that I was about a sin— a great sin. [text unchanged: missing words?]

Ch. VIII. "I looked at his meagre form clothed in rags [open " missing] How I should like to build one myself!" [close " missing] [* The Reformatory in Great Smith Street, Westminster.] [. missing]

Ch. IX. to nibble at the hard polished crockery, [, invisible]

Ch. XVI. With quiet night came our feasting-time, [, invisible]

Ch. XVII. had both seen cannon and learnt their use, [. for ,]

Ch. XVIII. above one half is shipped from St. Petersburg." [close " missing] the place where such glorious mountains are to be found?" [text unchanged: ? may be error for !]

Ch. XXI. a hunch of bread and cheese beside it [spelling unchanged]

Ch. XXII. the farmer's terrible gripe [terribe gripe: error corrected, archaic form retained] "'And how do you earn it?' inquired the farmer. [farmer.'] my light-footed comrade and I [invisible hyphen at page-end]

Ch. IX, Reconstructed Text: A pair of facing pages are slightly damaged: pg 60: We therefore set out ... ["fore" obscured] dogs and cats in the streets ["he" in "the" reconstructed from facing page] pg 61: my good friends ... notwithstanding the darkness ... [word "good", "w" in "notwithstanding" reconstructed from facing page] observed that I have ... ["d" in "observed" invisible]

THE END