“One year—two, three, four. Lovers came, and went; Nippie snubbing them all right royally. Still Queen Nutcracker lived and flourished; and still every spring eight or ten lovely princes and princesses appeared to swell the population of the royal oak. Five years—six. Nippie’s resplendent tail began to look thin, and a little worn. Hot pine-needles are very bad for tails, they say. She lost a front tooth; her nose grew sharp; and her figure, once so graceful, was now painfully thin. Suitors became weary of the Nutcracker beech, and the few who showed themselves were mere children, on the look-out for some younger Nutcrackers who were growing up. Nippie felt that her day was past; that the sun was ceasing to shine, and her hay not made; and, as the conviction forced itself upon her mind, her temper waxed horribly uneven. She took to shutting herself into her hole, and having nervous attacks; and when these were on, she would say the sharpest and most disagreeable things to her nearest relations.

“This of course did not add to the happiness of the family. Her nephews and nieces—full of spirits, and selfish, like all young creatures—pronounced her in private ‘a dreadful old cat,’ and took pleasure in teasing her, laughing at her little airs and graces, and alluding to her age in the most unfeeling way. Even her brothers and sisters, tired out by her tantrums, did not stand up for her as they ought. So life seemed pretty hard to poor Nippie; and there were moments when she wished herself made into pie, and an end put to every thing.

“But this was during the betwixt-and-between period which comes to everybody some time or other. For Nippie was not the sort of squirrel to settle down into insignificance without at least making a good fight for herself. She had failed as a beauty; but it was still possible to succeed as something else. She was not long in deciding what this should be. She would become ‘strong-minded.’

“Her first step was leaving off the ‘ie’ from her name. Nicknames, she declared, especially those ending in ie, were silly and affected. As she had been privately spoken of as ‘Nip’ for some time past among her young relations, no one made the least objection to the change. So Nippie the belle became plain Nippy; and soon after, to the astonishment of her friends, beech-leaves began to circulate about, bearing the name of ‘Dr. Nutcracker,’ and it was announced that Nippy had adopted the practice of medicine.

“This, however, was another failure, and did not last long. Nippy began in a small way with a remedy of her own invention, which she called ‘acorn-water,’ and which consisted of portions of a neighboring brook upon which the shadow of an acorn had been allowed to lie for two hours and twenty minutes by the sun. But most of the squirrels laughed at the new medicine, and declared that it did them no good; while the few who believed injured the water almost as much, by calling it dangerously strong. At last one very nervous old lady, Mrs. Hopper by name, was thrown into a fit by finding out, two days afterward, that she had by mistake swallowed half a drop more than the right dose; and after that nobody dared to try any more. So, upon the whole, Nippy decided not to be a Doctress, but something else. She took a week to think it over, and then startled the whole community by the following placard:—

Miss N. Nutcracker,
the Celebrated Philosopheress,
will lecture at Beech-tree Hall
on Thursday, at 5 P.M. precisely.

Subject:
“Why should not Squirrels lay Eggs?”
Admission, 25 beech-nuts.
Reserved seats, 2 acorns.
Children, half-price.

“Nothing can describe the excitement caused by this announcement, which was inscribed on a huge moose-wood leaf, and pinned with thorns to the royal oak. No lady-squirrel had ever before appeared on a public platform, and all the old fogies felt that it was the beginning of great changes. Everybody wanted to go, however, especially when the King sent down a servant with both cheeks stuffed full of acorns, and engaged the best seats for himself and party. When the hour came, there was hardly standing-room left on the Nutcracker beech. Nippy took her station on the top bough, with the utmost dignity of manner. There was nothing left of the flirting, foolish ways of the ex-belle. Her poor thin tail was screwed tightly into a French twist. She wore a plain gray gown, and black gloves. She had practised speaking with her mouth full of nuts so long, that every word she uttered could be heard distinctly; and I assure you her audience listened with both eyes and ears.

“I’m sorry that I cannot remember the lecture,” continued October; “for it was very fine. Nippy took the ground that as squirrels live in trees, and so do birds;—and as squirrels make nests, and so do birds;—and as squirrels have tails, and birds the same,—so it was the duty of squirrels to lay eggs, just as much as it was the duty of birds. Everybody applauded and agreed, but didn’t very well know how to do any thing more about it. So, after all, the lecture produced no practical result, except by making a great deal of talk.

“But this was precisely what Miss Nutcracker wished. She felt that her enterprise was succeeding, and that a glorious future lay before her. Other lectures followed. There was one on ‘Food;’ one on ‘What to do with the Shells?’ another on ‘Hygiene’ (which the average squirrel persisted in calling ‘High Jinks,’ and treating accordingly); and a fourth on ‘The New Departure,’ which meant the removal of the Nutcracker tribe to another tree, with more nuts on it. But the most famous lecture of all was announced to be ‘for ladies only’ and its subject was ‘The Wrongs of Squirrelesses.’