THE GREAT BASSO-PROFUNDO.
Very great was Bobtilla’s distress after she had received the notice of
eviction from her hard-hearted landlord, and all night she lay awake,
trying to form some plan for the future; but each one was abandoned
almost as soon as it was formed, for the making of a new home is a
matter for deep reflection, the happiness and welfare of a family
depending so entirely upon it.
The spot where Bobtilla had hitherto resided, and which she was so
cruelly compelled to leave, had many advantages of situation. It was so
far removed from other dwellings that there was nothing to be feared
from enemies, and as the little field-mouse was very particular about
the society she chose for her children, she considered the seclusion a
great advantage.
The longer Bobtilla pondered on the subject, the stronger became her
conviction that her next move must be nearer the habitations of others,
who would protect her in case old Rough should further persecute her.
Having satisfied her mind on this point, she fell into a deep sleep,
from which she did not awake until the day was well advanced. Then,
perceiving the sun shining in through the small opening of her house,
she started up hurriedly.
So deep had been the slumber of the little mouse, that during it all
sense of the recollection of her trials had vanished, and for a moment
she forgot the misery she had undergone before sleep came to her
relief; but by degrees the feeling that all was not right stole over
her, and gradually a full sense of her unfortunate situation returned.
Notwithstanding her natural timidity, Bobtilla was not entirely without
energy, and she lost no time in useless repining; so hastily putting
her house in order, and making her children comfortable, she set out
with all speed to consult her new friends, the chipmunks.
The amiable couple heard with indignation how badly the field-mouse had
been treated by the cruel miser, and they at once tried to think of a
way to help her out of her difficulty.
“You had better come nearer to us,” said Squirrello, when the little
mouse had ended her sad story. “You will be farther away from old
Rough, for he has not ventured into this neighborhood.”
“Yes, and we can perhaps help you to a little food now and then,” added
Squirrella.
“You are very good to me,” replied Bobtilla, gratefully. “I’m sure I
don’t know what I should do without you.”
“Well, and why shouldn’t we be? What are we here for, if it is not to
help one another?” asked Squirrella.
“If everybody were of your mind, how easily we could live,” sighed
Bobtilla; “but as a general thing, the strong prey on the weak, and the
rich on the poor.”
“Well, at all events that isn’t _our_ way,” replied Squirrella,
cheerfully; “so now we will decide on a new home for you. Let me see,
there is a nice place under that large stone just behind you. I have
often thought it would be a good building-spot for somebody. How does
it strike you?”
“Capital!” exclaimed Bobtilla, joyfully. The kind reception she had
met with raised her spirits wonderfully, for it meant a peaceful home,
where old Rough would cease to persecute, and plenty of food for her
children until she could succeed in accumulating another stock of
provisions.
So Bobtilla set to work with a will, and soon had a convenient house
made to her satisfaction. When all was ready, she collected dried
leaves and soft bits of moss, and made a comfortable bed for her
children, smiling with satisfaction as she contemplated the comfort she
had succeeded in effecting.
The praise of the two chipmunks, who complimented her on her skill,
was very satisfactory, and she hastened to return to her children,
in order to remove them to their new abode. Before the time set by
old Rough, the little field-mice were safely established in their new
quarters, and eating a good supper provided by their thoughtful friends
the chipmunks.
While these events, of so much importance to Bobtilla and her family,
were taking place, the two young crows were idling away their time, on
the constant lookout for something with which to amuse themselves; and
as they had not succeeded in appropriating the property of any one else
or in doing any especial mischief, they felt that the day had not been
a success, and time hung heavily on their hands. Alighting on a tree in
the meadow, they cast their shrewd eyes about in all directions for any
chance that might occur, and occasionally gave a languid caw.
Sitting thus idly, the tones of a deep bass voice struck on their
ears; and seated on the margin of the stream they beheld a large
bull-frog gazing pensively into the water below, while in a melancholy
voice, and with a strong French accent, he sang the following lines:--
“Not always did I feel so bad,
With eyes so heavy and heart so sad.
Since many days I do not feel
Desire to eat a hearty meal.
No longer bugs and flies I eat,
And grasshoppers with prickly feet.
Indeed it was not always so;
My feelings have received a blow.
The melting voice of her I love
Is now tuned for another cove.
That fairy form, those eyes so yellow,
Belong now to another fellow.”
As the bull-frog ceased he sighed profoundly, and large tears rolled
down his cheeks and splashed into the sluggish stream. The two young
crows, rejoiced at the prospect of a diversion, flew down from the
tree, and seated themselves on the bank of the stream opposite the
mournful singer.
“What’s up, Johnny?” they asked.
With a sigh that threatened to rend his capacious bosom, Johnny the
basso replied,--
“She have deserted me. My sweetheart have left me for anozzer. I am in
despair!”
“Who, the little green frog who lives down by the dam?”
“No!” replied the basso, indignantly; “it was no leetle green frog.
My sweetheart is fine; she have one fine figure--Ah! qu’elle est
charmante!”
“It was the little green one last week,” answered the younger crow,
dryly.
The mourner took no notice, but continued his lamentations.
“She have left me for anozzer. She say, our voices they not blend
well,--I, zee great basso-profundo! She prefer a tenor, she say. I ’ate
a tenor, he squeal like one pig!”
“Who is he?” asked the elder crow.
“I know not how he call hisself, but I will find him!” exclaimed the
bull-frog, fiercely. “I will cr-crush zat tenor! He sall know what it
is to insult zee greatest basso-profundo on zee earth. I will make zat
tenor to tremble!”
“After you have found him,” remarked the younger crow.
“But I will found him, I say!” exclaimed the excited basso. “I will
hunt zee earth for zat tenor! My great talent, my vast wealth, they
sall succeed in finding zat wr-r-etch who have deceived me,--_me_, zee
greatest living basso-profundo on zee earth!”
“Why don’t you consult old Blinkeye?” asked the elder crow.
“What you say he call hisself,--Blinkeye? I have nevare heard from him.”
“Old Blinkeye is the wisest fellow about here,--knows all the laws
of the woods by heart. Why, even my grandfather consults him, and my
grandfather is no chicken, I can tell you.”
“How know old Blinkeye anysing about my sweetheart? How will he find
zis miser-rable tenor?”
“If he doesn’t know now, he will find out. He flies about all night,
and learns a good many secrets that way. Oh, he’s a wise old fellow, is
Blinkeye, and fierce too. Nobody knows how old he is.”
“I sink he too old. Zee mind grow weak when old age come.”
“No, not a bit of it,” replied the elder crow. “Then he is so strong
and fierce, the tenor had better look out when he catches sight of him.”
“I sink perhaps your fine Blinkeye eat me up. He say to hisself, ‘Great
basso-profundo fat and tender,--he make nice dinner. Tenor thin,--more
bones as fat. I sink rather I eat great basso.’”
“He is only fierce at night. In the daytime he is as blind as a bat,
and sits and thinks. Then, when night comes, he flies about, and it is
better to keep out of his way. Come, you’d better go and see him.”
“Well, I go wiz you,” answered the singer, after a moment’s reflection.
Accordingly off set the three, the bull-frog hopping, and the crows
walking behind him; but the bull-frog with his long leaps made much
greater headway than the crows with their short steps, and the latter,
when the frog was nearly out of sight, would use their wings to reach
him, and at last adopted a gait between walking and flying.
The bull-frog was not in the habit of taking such long trips, and
was obliged to halt occasionally; and these rests were spent in
conversation, during which the basso recounted many valiant exploits he
had achieved.
“Zis place is not large enough for so great a singer as I,” said the
bull-frog; “my talent is too great to rest in zis small place. One here
has no taste; one knows not what is musique. When I lived in great
meadow far away,--ah! there it was fine! every evening zey come, so
many how zey could, to hear zee great basso.”
“Why didn’t you stay there, Johnny?” asked the younger crow.
“I was one fool,” replied the bull-frog. “I say, ‘Zese peoples zey make
me tired wiz zere praise;’ so I say to myself, ‘My friend, you sing too
much, your fine voice will ruin; better you move to some ozzer place,
where zere are not so many peoples.’ So I move here.”
“And a very wise move it was,” replied the elder crow. “But here we
are, and there sits old Blinkeye.”
They stopped before the owl, who sat silently on a tree, with his usual
solemn expression. He slightly turned his head in the direction of his
visitors, but it was evident he did not see them.
“How do you find yourself to-day, Father Blinkeye?” asked the elder
crow. “We have brought a friend to consult you on a very important
matter.”
“Who is he, and what does he want?” demanded the owl.
The bull-frog hastened to introduce himself thus: “I am zee greatest
basso-profundo on zee earth. Doubtless you have heard mention my
great talent. I sing so deep,--zere is no basso who so deep sings. My
_répertoire_, ah! it is _énorme_.”
“What is your business with me?” inquired the owl, who remained unmoved
by this announcement.
“My sweetheart she have left me,” replied the bull-frog. “She have left
me, _me_, zee great artist, for one tenor! I wish to find zat tenor! I
wish to have revenge!” and he scowled fiercely at the recollection of
his wrongs.
“What do you expect me to do about it?” asked Blinkeye, coldly.
“I sought zat perhaps you would have zee goodness to find zat tenor for
me, sair.”
“That isn’t in my line,” replied Blinkeye. “My business is to expound
the laws of the woods.”
“Zen will you be so kind, sair, as to tell me zee law zat will find zat
tenor?” asked the basso, eagerly.
“Let me see where that comes in,” said the owl, meditatively, and
remained deep in thought, with one great yellow eye closed, and the
other staring straight before him. This had such a solemn effect, that
the basso felt sure such vast wisdom must procure for him the aid he
desired.
“Aha!” exclaimed the owl, after awhile, and slowly unclosing his eye,
“I have it. Now listen attentively, for I don’t take the trouble of
repeating these laws. Such a strain on my mind tires it and makes it
dangerous for me.
“‘Tirra, rirra, high and shrill
Is heard throughout the meadow still;
And near the marshy bog is sung
The musical, deep-toned a-hung!
Take the one, and leave the other,
And end this weary strife and bother.’
“Now leave me, that my mind may rest after such an effort,” added the
owl.
“But I know not what it mean, sair,” exclaimed the basso, in
bewilderment. “I know no more zan before, what I am to do. Will you
have zee goodness to explain zat law to me.”
“No,” replied the owl, severely, “I will not. My business is to recite
the law, and yours to understand it. If you don’t, that’s your loss.
Now go.”
“But, sair,--” began the basso. He did not have time to finish his
sentence, however, for the two crows pushed and dragged him out of the
owl’s presence, promising to explain to him on the way home the meaning
of the law of the woods recited by the owl.
“It’s as plain as can be,” said the elder crow, when they had succeeded
in starting the basso toward home; “don’t you see? ‘Take the one and
leave the other,’ why, of course you’ll take _the one_, and you’ll
leave the other when you only want _the one_, won’t you?”
“But zat does not tell me where I sall find zee tenor,” persisted the
basso.
“‘Tirra, rirra, high and shrill,
Is heard throughout the meadow still,’--
that’s the tenor of course, with his high voice, and it tells you as
plainly as possible that you’ll find him in the meadow,” explained the
younger crow.
“‘And near the marshy bog is sung
The musical, deep-toned a-hung,’--
that’s _you_ of course, with your deep bass. Now do you see your way
clearly?”
This explanation appeared so very simple that the basso could but
acknowledge it.
“Zee meadow is one large place,” he said.
“Oh, well! now we know he is there, we’ll find him for you, and the
little brown frog will not be far off, you may be sure,” said the elder
crow.
Thus reassured, the bull-frog hopped briskly home, accompanied by the
crows, who walked and flew by his side.
“I sank you, Messieurs, for your kindness,” said the basso, when he
stopped before his door, “and I sall know how to reward you. Au revoir,
Messieurs,” and, gracefully saluting his young friends, Johnny the
basso hopped into his hole.
[Illustration: “The young crows’ trick.”]