fact I have never learned, and have always been accustomed to trust to
my natural voice without any accompaniment."
"Never learned to play?" cried the magpie in a voice of astonishment.
"Dear me, dear me, what a pity! I have so often heard good singers like
you speak of the pleasure of being able to accompany oneself, and I am
sure you _could_ play if you liked. Now I have a neighbour who plays
the violin in the most delightful manner, and what is more, he gives
lessons upon that charming instrument. A very few lessons from him, and
I am sure you would play so well that the whole neighbourhood would
flock to hear you!"
"Really," said Effie, "this sounds very tempting. I have always felt
that one ought to cultivate one's talents, and make the most of the
gifts which Nature has given us. Your words are well worth
consideration," and she mused for a few moments, purring all the while
in a contented and self-satisfied tone.
The magpie, who had now brought the conversation to the very point she
desired, according to the plan agreed upon with the weasel, began to
press the matter home to the cat, telling her that she was wronging
herself as well as all the other animals in not making her talents of
more avail to them, and taking advantage of the opportunity which now
offered.
The musical neighbour of whom she had spoken, turned out to be "Honest
John," the hare, and although his services were in great requisition,
the magpie said, she was sure that she should be able to secure them
for so distinguished a person as the cat, provided that she would
consent to take lessons.
After a little more talk, Mrs. Effie decided to allow the magpie to
sound the hare upon the subject, and appointed another meeting upon the
following day in order to discuss the matter further. Then the magpie,
having done a good morning's work, and successfully laid the train by
which she hoped to carry out her plot with the weasel, flew chuckling
off, whilst the weasel stole silently away, and occupied himself on his
own affairs.
Meanwhile the cat was much gratified by all that had passed. She felt
that she was appreciated; and that those who lived around evidently
recognized her as a person to be considered and made much of. She
resolved that she would tell the dog nothing whatever of her interview
with the magpie, partly because she thought he would laugh at the
readiness with which she had listened to the bird's flattery, and
partly because she was quite sure that he would entirely disapprove of
her proposed lessons upon the violin. Thus, then, were the first seeds
sown of that unhappy quarrel which was destined to divide the two once
united races.
Rover returned from his walk in a cheerful and pleasant mood, and
behaved in the most friendly spirit towards his old friend. He could
not help observing, however, that she hardly treated him after the same
fashion. She seemed to hold her head higher than usual, and stood more
upon her dignity than had formerly been the case. Being a good-natured
dog, he took no notice of this, and, in fact, attributed her conduct to
some accidental derangement of the nerves or the digestion. But when
the same thing continued during the whole of the next day, he began to
feel rather annoyed. Still he said nothing, and went for his walk as
usual. As soon as his back was fairly turned, the magpie again made her
appearance, and commenced another conversation with the cat. She had
not been able to see Honest John, she said, but had made an appointment
for the following day, and would call again on the morning after. Then
she went on in her former strain, praising the cat's beauty and
sweetness of voice to the skies, and throwing in all the nasty
insinuations she could think of against poor Rover. Jenny always used
to get angry when she came to this part of the story, vowing that no
faithful person, and, in fact, no real lady, would have allowed anyone
to say such things of an absent friend, but would have stopped the
mischievous gossip at once.
Effie, however, did no such thing; and after all, we must own that she
only acted in the same manner as a great many men and women, for
everybody likes to hear himself praised, and when a person wants to
abuse or run down another, if he manages to do so in the same
conversation in which he flatters his listener, he has an excellent
chance of escaping without rebuke from the latter. Besides, whatever
Jenny's opinion may have been, we know very well that, after all, she
was but an ass.
So the second visit passed off as successfully as the magpie could have
wished, and then there was a third, and at each interview she scattered
her poisoned seed so cleverly, that day by day the difference between
the two old friends grew imperceptibly wider. I think it was not until
the magpie had paid her fourth visit that the arrangement about the
violin lessons was finally made.
"Honest John" had reasons for declining to visit the house in which
Mrs. Effie lived, but, on being bribed by promises of lettuce and
parsley from the garden, freely given by the cat, and conveyed to him
by the magpie, the hare consented to give evening lessons three times a
week to Effie, provided that she would consent to come down and receive
them by the stream which crossed the meadow close to the wood in which
Honest John generally resided. In that meadow lived a most respectable
cow, reputed to be a great lover of music, and John suggested that
after a short time it might be possible for the two to take lessons
together, and that a duet between them would be most melodious.
Still this arrangement was kept completely secret from the dog, and the
results that followed almost entirely arose from this silence on
Effie's part, which was really as foolish as it was unnecessary. Had
she opened her heart to her old friend, all might yet have been well,
but she had promised the magpie to conceal the matter, and so she did.
She was obliged to practise deceit in order to go forth to her lessons
without the knowledge of the dog. She therefore pretended to him that
she had a great fancy for cockchafers, which always came buzzing about
in the early summer evenings, which was the best time to catch them. So
she made this the excuse for stealing out of the house somewhat late,
and Rover, finding that she evidently did not want his company, and
being too proud to force himself upon anybody, stayed quietly at home.
So the lessons began, and it must have been a curious sight to see the
hare and the cat sitting side by side between the wood and the stream,
the former instructing the latter how to hold the violin and to wring
from it those sounds with which, according to the magpie, she would
soon delight the world.
The worthy Rover, albeit quite unsuspicious of what was going on, saw
no improvement in the manners and behaviour of his old friend. She was
not only cold to him, but not unfrequently behaved with positive
discourtesy, making faces when he wished to engage in a friendly game
of play with her, frequently setting up her back at him, and
occasionally going to the length of spitting. In fact, whatever harmony
she might be learning from the hare, the harmony of the household was
certainly not increased, and a most uncomfortable state of things
prevailed. The good dog became positively unhappy when he found that
such an estrangement had grown up between his old friend and himself,
and often wondered whether he had given her any just cause of offence,
and whether any action on his part would be able to set matters right
again.
So matters went on for some time, and the magpie and weasel chuckled
vastly over the success of their wicked plot. The cat, meanwhile, made
some progress with her lessons, and received the compliments of honest
John upon her performance, which in reality was execrable. She had not
the slightest idea of time or tune, and could hardly produce a sound
from the violin, whilst her voice was so disagreeable that the cow, far
from consenting to join her in a duet, invariably left that part of the
meadow as soon as she began, and went away to moo by herself as far off
as possible. Still the cat persevered, the foolish hare expressed
himself satisfied, and the magpie lost no opportunity of encouraging
Effie in her praiseworthy exertions.
She irritated Rover exceedingly about this time by caterwauling
frequently at night, which made the honest fellow quite fidgety, and no
doubt contributed in some degree to the final catastrophe which was now
drawing near.
The magpie, who, as it may be seen, cared neither for dog, cat, hare,
nor for anything nor anybody except her own interest and amusement, saw
plainly enough that the cat could not be deceived for ever by her
flattery, and that some day or other she would discover the truth,
namely that she was making no progress at all with her music, and was
in fact no further advanced than when she first began. Having no regard
whatever for the hare, upon whose large eyes she sometimes cast a
covetous glance as if longing to peck them out, the wicked old bird
thought that her best plan to turn the cat's possible anger from
herself, would be to persuade her that her progress towards musical
perfection was only delayed by the negligence or stupidity of "Honest
John."
She began by suggesting to Effie that although her voice was as fine as
ever, and her notes as clear and true, she did not seem to be able to
accompany herself as yet upon the violin. Considering her great natural
talent this was certainly rather strange. Was she _quite_ satisfied
with her master? Hares were jealous animals. Was this one free from the
disease? Would it not be well to ask him why she could not yet
accompany herself as she wished to do?
By means of such words as these, the cunning magpie succeeded in
gradually instilling into the mind of Effie discontent and suspicion of
the hare, towards whom she had up to that time entertained nothing but
feelings of gratitude and friendship. At her very next lesson she
complained of not getting on fast enough, and questioned Honest John
sharply upon the subject. The hare made the best excuses that he could,
took most of the blame upon himself, denied that there was any such
want of progress as was supposed, and promised that the very next
evening he would persuade the cow to be present, and join in their
musical performance. That night Effie nearly drove Rover mad with her
attempts at a private rehearsal.
The dog passed a sleepless night, baying angrily but uselessly at the
moon, and wondering how on earth any living creature, cat, dog, or man,
could find pleasure in squalling all night instead of going comfortably
to bed, and seeking their natural rest. When next morning came, he had
nearly had enough of it, and felt cross all day towards the cat, who
had really become such a disagreeable inmate of the house as to have
almost altogether destroyed its comfort as a home. The day wore on, and
as evening approached, the cat made her usual preparations to leave the
house for the purpose of taking her lesson.
In order fully to understand how it was that the events came to pass
which I am about to relate, I must here remark that the little poodle,
whose name was Frisky, had observed the constant absence of Effie at
this particular time, and had once or twice spoken about it to Rover.
On this evening, when the same thing happened again, he remarked to the
old dog that it was curious that the cat should so often go out of an
evening, and suggested that they should stroll out together and see if
they could find out where she had gone to, and how she managed to catch
the cockchafers.
To this Rover consented, partly out of good nature towards the little
poodle, and partly because, being rather out of sorts, and irritated by
all he had lately had to go through, he thought a moonlight stroll
might cool his heated blood and do him good. So, about an hour after
the departure of the cat, when the moon was up and shining brightly,
the two dogs sauntered forth for their walk.
Meanwhile Effie had gone down to her accustomed trysting place with the
hare, and there she found Honest John, and saw that, true to his word,
he had induced the cow to cross the stream and consent to join in their
performance.
[Illustration: THE CAT'S LAST MUSIC LESSON.--P. 212]
They began well enough: the hare playing a solo upon the violin, on
which he was really skilful; and the cow afterwards mooing melodiously;
then the cat, after a gentle "miauw," which hurt nobody's ears, took
the violin, and made a prodigious effort after success, raising her
voice at the same time in tones so discordant that the hare
involuntarily clapped his paws to his ears to keep out the horrible
sounds. This action suddenly and at once disclosed to the cat the real
poverty of her performance; and the manner in which she had been
deceived by those who had flattered her upon an excellence of voice
which she had never possessed. Forgetful of the real culprit, who had
led her to the pass at which she had now arrived, she turned the full
current of her rage against the master who had failed to supply her
with that voice and taste for music which nature had denied. Dropping
the violin in a paroxysm of rage, she clasped the unhappy hare suddenly
round the neck, as if in a loving embrace, perhaps meaning at first
only to give him a good shaking for his misbehaviour. As she did so,
she exclaimed--
"Honest John, Honest John, do you laugh at your pupils, then, and stop
your ears against the sounds you yourself have taught them to make?"
The hare could only reply by a faint squeak, for the cat held him
tight, and pressed his body close to her own. As she did so, I suppose
nature asserted itself in her breast, and she could not resist the
temptation of fastening her teeth in the throat which was so invitingly
near her mouth. A fatal nip it was that she gave the poor hare. The
warm blood followed immediately. The tiger's thirst was awakened in the
cat at once, and, all the more excited by the struggles of the hare to
escape, she threw her paws more closely around him, and bit so fiercely
that the poor wretch soon knew that he was lost indeed. Forgetful of
music, of the cow, of the violin, of everything but the mad passion of
the moment, Effie clung tightly to the dying hare, purring to herself
with a savage and horrible satisfaction as she did him slowly to death,
and his large liquid eyes, turned to her at first with a piteous look
as if to ask for mercy, grew fixed and glassy and dull as he yielded up
his innocent life and lay dead beneath his cruel pupil.
All this passed in a minute, and so indeed did that which followed. The
cow, too utterly astonished at what had happened to think of
interfering, even if her peaceful disposition would not in any case
have prevented her doing so, stood aghast during the short struggle,
rooted to the ground with horror and amazement. Then, when the horrid
deed was done, she gave vent to a mighty, unearthly bellow, turned
round, rushed to the stream, in which the reflection of the glorious
moon above was clearly shining at the moment, leaped straight over it,
and ran wildly away to the other end of the meadow.
Other actors appeared upon the scene at the same moment. Rover and
Frisky had by chance come that way in their stroll, and had seen the
musical performers just at the very moment when the cat gave vent to
those discordant notes which had so offended the ears of the
unfortunate hare.
They had precisely the same effect upon worthy Rover, who no sooner
heard them than he threw himself upon the ground, buried his head in
his paws, and tried to shut them out altogether. As he shut his eyes at
the time, he did not immediately see what followed. In fact he lay
still, groaning audibly for a minute or two, until aroused by shouts of
laughter from his little companion.
"Look, Mr. Rover," exclaimed little Frisky, still holding his sides
with merriment. "See what fun they are having! Effie and a hare are
rolling about together so funnily. And see--oh, _do_ look. Here comes
the cow! Oh, what a jump!"
And he went off into another fit of laughter as the cow came thundering
by them in her mad career.
But when Rover raised his head and looked forward, he comprehended the
scene at once, and knew that it was no laughing matter, at least for
one of the actors. For an instant--but only for an instant--he paused,
but in the next moment his resolution was taken. With a loud, indignant
bark, he sprang forward, and rushed towards the spot where the
treacherous Effie still held her lifeless victim in her fatal embrace.
"Murderess!" he shouted, as he sprang across the stream. "Vile
murderess, these then are your cockchafers, and this the meaning of
your moonlight rambles! But you shall be punished for this abominable
crime, and that without delay!"
Perhaps if good Rover had made a shorter speech, or rushed upon the cat
without making one at all until he had caught her, he would have
succeeded in his object, and avenged the poor hare.
But Effie was no fool, and as soon as she heard the honest bark of her
old companion, she knew by instinct that the game was up, and that the
sooner she was off the better. Therefore, without a moment's delay, she
tore herself from the still panting body of the luckless hare, and
darted into the wood scarce half-a-dozen yards in front of the pursuing
Rover. In fact I think he would actually have caught her, and possibly
changed the whole current of the future relations which were
thenceforward to exist between their respective races, but for her
skill in climbing, of which she took advantage by rushing up a large
leafy oak which stood near the outside of the wood, and from the lofty
branches of which she presently sat licking her lips and looking down
in safety upon her late friend, but now justly incensed enemy.
With bitter words did the good dog upbraid her with her cold unkindness
and deceit towards himself, and with her still worse treachery and
cruelty towards her more recent acquaintance, the hare. He warned her
against approaching any more the house which had hitherto been their
joint home, and declared that for his part he could no longer have any
friendship for one so utterly base and wicked.
The cat, having no real defence to make against honest Rover's attack,
contented herself with setting up her back, and spitting violently
until she had somewhat cooled down. Then, with consummate craft, she
began to excuse herself, declaring that the dog was himself in fault,
that his arrogance and overbearing manners had become perfectly
insufferable, and that if she had done anything unworthy of her noble
race, it was not to a dog that she looked to be reproved for the same.
The bitter language which passed between these two animals is believed
by Jenny to have been the source and origin of the subsequent
estrangement of the two races, and there seems no reason to doubt the
accuracy of her information. Certain it is that Effie never returned
home; whether remorse for her disgraceful conduct had any share in
producing this result, or whether it was simply from the fear of
Rover's threats, it is at this distance of time impossible to say.
But from that day to this not only did this particular cat never
associate with dogs upon friendly terms, but for any cat to do so,
after she had left kittenhood and reached years of discretion, was and
is quite exceptional conduct.
Some of Effie's race frequent the woods and mountain fastnesses,
avoiding altogether the abodes of men; others, indeed, consent to be
considered as "domestic" animals, but they, for the most part, regard a
dog as an intruder if he enters the house-door, and keep him at arm's
length as much as possible.
Rover returned home on that eventful night tired in body and sad at
heart. To his honest and confiding nature it had been a cruel blow to
find that one whom he had of old trusted and loved had turned out to be
both treacherous and cruel. Singularly enough, in his return home, whom
should he encounter but the weasel, who, forgetful of his usual
caution, and desirous of annoying his enemy, let him know that he was
aware of the cat having deceived him, and too plainly showed his
exultation at the quarrel which had taken place, and his hope that it
would be permanent. Rover rushed upon the little beast before he could
escape, and made an end of him with a single shake.
The result as regarded the magpie was more curious still. Being an
inveterate thief, she no sooner saw that both the dogs, as well as the
cat, were out of the house, than she flew in through the window, and
seized a silver spoon which was lying upon an ordinary meat dish for
the usual purpose to which such articles are devoted, namely, the
helping of the gravy. Delighted with her booty, she flew to the
window-sill, and having hid the spoon in the ivy which clustered round
it, had just hopped into the room again, when the door suddenly opened,
and the window blew to with a bang in consequence of the sudden
draught.
As it was a self-fastening window, the bird was unable to get out, and
sat there trembling whilst the man-servant belonging to the house
entered the room. Looking round, he presently perceived some gravy
spilt on the clean table-cloth, and another glance satisfied him that
the silver gravy spoon was missing.
As he knew he should be held responsible for the loss, the plate being
all in his charge, the man was naturally much annoyed, and looked right
and left to see where on earth the spoon could have flown to. Soon he
espied the magpie crouching in the corner of the window-seat, and
trying to hide herself.
"There's the thief, I'll be bound!" he cried, and stepped towards her.
The bird, quite beside herself with fear, fluttered on this side and
that, vainly endeavouring to escape through the window.
"No you don't!" said the man. "You've been stealing, have you, Mistress
Mag. Where's the silver gravy spoon?"
"Oh!" shrieked the magpie; "I never stole it!--I never stole it!"
"What has become of it?" said the man.
"Oh, I don't know--indeed I don't know! The dish ran away with it!"
shrieked the magpie, in great distress of mind, as the man reached out
his hand to seize her.
"Tell that to the marines!" replied the man, which was an idle and
useless saying, for there were no marines there; and if there had been,
it was highly improbable that the magpie would have told _them_.
He seized the bird by the wing, and in the agitation and confusion of
the moment, she resented the affront by giving him a sharp peck on the
hand, a compliment which he returned by immediately wringing her neck.
Thus (said Jenny invariably, when she reached this point in her story)
you see that treachery and cunning, although they may be successful for
a time, in the long run always bring those who practise them into
trouble. So the magpie and weasel, who, by their malicious tricks
brought disunion among friends, and introduced strife into a once
united family, both lost their own lives within a very short time after
the success of their wily arts had been accomplished.
It was upon this old legend that the song was founded to which I
alluded at the beginning of the story. I confess that I am not quite
clear about the first words, "Hey diddle diddle!" Wise men and learned
writers have given several interpretations of this interjaculation, or
invocation, or exclamation, or whatever you please to call it.