cat, who would devour her alive: she lay breathless! not a limb did she move, scarce did she even draw her breath, for the cat approached within a yard of the spot where she laid, and——” “Oh! poor Downy! (cried Alfred,) how sorry I am!—but, mamma, did that wicked cat kill her? do, dear mamma, make haste and tell me.”—“Why, Alfred,” said his mother, “you would not wait for me to tell you whether she was killed or not: I am sure you could not feel sorry for the death of a nasty brown mouse; you hate mice, they are such little thieves.”—Little Alfred blushed at what his mother said, for he remembered they were his own words, and said to his mother, “Dear mamma, I think I will never wish for the death of any thing again, and I am very sorry I had that mouse killed; I will never kill another mouse, if it was to eat all the cakes you mean to give me when I am a good boy.” Mrs. Clifford not help smiling at her little boy, but went on.—

“The cat, as I said before, was close to the clod of earth on which luckless Downy stood, and when she believed her death certain, she had the inexpressible joy of finding that her motionless posture had been the means of saving her from the vigilant eyes of the cat, who passed on quite unconcerned without taking any notice of her prey. For an instant Downy could scarce credit her own eyes when she saw her enemy pass on; but fearing that if puss should return, she should not again escape so miraculously, she darted away as she hoped unseen, but, silly little thing! she had better have laid where she was, for the kitten beheld her as she ran, and sprung upon her. Poor Downy felt her claws, but exerting all her speed, she flew to the hedge—this friendly hedge which had so often been her refuge, and darting among the tangled roots of the hawthorn and ivy, left her pursuers far behind, and, exhausted with terror and fatigue, remained trembling and panting till she was half dead. Still she heard the mews of the disappointed kitten, and the angry purrs of the old cat—who sat watching about the bank for more than an hour, waiting to seize her if she ventured forth,* but that poor Downy was not in a condition to do, for her poor back still ached with the bruise the kitten had given her, and she felt in such a panic, she could not have stirred a step if she had seen a dozen cats. For two whole days poor little Downy thought she should have died, and when she was a little better and began to feel hungry, there was nothing for her to eat but hay seeds and ivy leaves, or the roots of the trees, and Downy, who had of late been used to such good fare, could not bear to eat such dry unpalatable food as this was.

“When she used to spend her time in labour and industry, she eat the hardest fare with an excellent appetite, and was thankful and contented with the least bit of any thing she got, but now she turned away disgusted at the coarse food, and it was not until pinched by hunger, that she would eat any of it. And now Downy began to consider within herself, whether it would not have been much better and wiser for her to have returned back to her own house in the meadow, instead of living so long in idleness and luxury; and Downy found that idleness brings its own punishment sooner or later, for had she been at home she would not have been so frightened by the cat, or nearly killed by the kitten; or even if a cat had come near her nice nest, she would have run away much faster than she did now, for being then smaller and thinner, she was much nimbler; nor was her daintiness the least evil that attended her long indulgence, and this she felt more severely now she was ill and could not go out to find good food; she had suffered so much with pain and terror, that she resolved never to go into the garden again, excepting to get provisions when in want. With a sad and penitent heart Downy once more returned to her old habitation, but, alas! what was her grief on beholding it a complete ruin; her nice warm nest all destroyed, and the pretty green mound quite spoiled! Downy was sadly vexed, for the cruel hay-makers had with their pitchforks torn open the turf and scattered her soft bed all round on the grass. She stood gazing with anguish on the desolate scene before her; here was all her spring work entirely ruined, and now she was ill and had no where to lay her head. ‘Ah!’ thought she, ‘if I had not spent so much time in doing nothing but eating and playing, I should have escaped the danger of being caught by the cat, and should not have been hurt by the kitten, besides which I think by this time I might have made up my nest, and have been quite comfortable again.

She was hardly able to work, and what was far worse, she felt very great reluctance to begin her laborious task, so much harm had her living so long in indolence done her, as it does to every one who indulges in it. Remember, my little Alfred, that idleness is the root of all evil, as you may see in the case of Downy:—now which do you think was the happiest and best,—careful and industrious Downy making her house, and busily procuring food for herself against the winter,—or careless idle Downy doing nothing but playing and enjoying herself in the garden, eating the fruit, and sleeping among the flowers? now tell me, which do you like best of the two?” Alfred considered for a minute or two, and then said, “Why, dear mamma, though I should have liked to have eaten the nice things in the garden, and lived among the flowers, yet I see that it would have been better for Downy if she had always remained in the field and worked hard; but I am afraid I should have been as silly as Downy, and not liked work.”

“That is what I was afraid of, therefore, my dear child, I thought it best to shew you how wrong she was in indulging herself in that manner; and be assured that, whoever does so, will fall into misfortune.

“Necessity obliged Downy at last to overcome her extreme reluctance to work, and she once more began to look out for a proper place for her new habitation; she visited all the green mounds in the meadow, but alas! they were occupied by the ant, and poor Downy was quite out of patience—and at last she was, though with reluctance, forced to take up her lodgings in the side of the garden bank, quite at the farther end, where no cats ever came, and at last, finding it was to her own interest to work, she resolved not to be idle any more, and laboured as hard as ever she had done, and soon completed her new dwelling, having made it a most commodious habitation, in which she lived very happily all the summer. When the harvest time arrived, then was Downy very busy; she went into a neighbouring wheat field, and there she made a good harvest for herself, and laid in a handsome store of grain for her winter supply. In her journeys to the corn-fields she met many mice, who, like her, were gathering in their winter stock of provisions; but Downy would not stay in the corn-fields, because she remembered the fate of her nest while she was gone in the garden, so she came home very regularly every night.