FRANK AND THE FOX.
FRANK was a very studious and clever little boy.
He took the keenest delight in music, and when he had mastered his lessons, he was very fond of playing on the concertina, and singing to his own accompaniment. He could already play "The Bells go a-ringing for Sarah!" with considerable finish and expression, and since his Uncle DODDLEWIG had presented him with half-a-crown for his performance, he had given the air with variations, and the song with every description of embellishment, all over the paternal mansion, and in most corners of the ancestral estate.
To tell the truth, his family were getting somewhat tired of his continued asseverations concerning the tintinabulatory tribute everlastingly rendered to the excellent young woman. And had he not been so markedly encouraged by rich old Uncle DODDLEWIG, there is every reason to suppose that FRANK and his concertina would have been speedily suppressed.
FRANK heard his Papa lamenting that foxes were so very scarce, that recently they had had no sport whatever. "There must be plenty of foxes in the country," said the Squire, "but they won't show."
Now FRANK had been reading about Orpheus, and how he charmed all the wild beasts with his melody. It was true the boy had not a lyre, but he had no doubt that his concertina would do as well, and he was quite certain he had seen a fox while taking his rambles in Tippity Thicket,
One day when he had a holiday, and his Papa had gone a hunting with his friends, he strolled off with his concertina to endeavour to lure a fox out into the open. He approached the hole where he had previously seen the fox, and sat down, and began to play vigorously on his concertina, and to sing at the top of his voice, "The Bells go a-ringing for Say-rah! Say-rah! Say-rah!" Presently he saw a huge Fox poke his nose out of the hole. He was delighted! He sang and played with renewed energy, and began to walk away, still singing and playing.
The Fox followed, snarling, and snapping, and appearing very angry. The more he played, the more the Fox snarled and snapped. At last the animal became furious, all the hair on its back stood on end, and it began to make short runs with its mouth open at the young musician.
It sprang upon him! He was terrified! He dropped his song and his concertina at the same moment, and scrambled up the nearest tree.
The Fox's fury then knew no bounds; he trampled on the concertina, he bit it, he tore open the bellows, and having reduced it to a shapeless mass, bore it away to his hole.
When the coast was quite clear, FRANK descended, and slunk home.
The next morning one of the keepers found a dead fox. It had apparently died of suffocation, as sixteen ivory concertina-stops were found in its throat.
FRANK now has entirely ceased to believe in Ancient Mythology, and has been even heard to hint that he considers Dr. LEMPRIÈRE a bit of a humbug.
"LOST TO SIGHT, TO MEMORY DEAR."—An animal very difficult to secure again when once off ... and that is ... "a pony," when you've lost it on Newmarket Heath.