A pathetic recital for the benefit of you, or me, or any other snail who
may want a tortoise-shell.

In what year, or under what king Bezoman, lived he, no matter. Suffice it
to know he still survives.

Once he was happy!

Once, whene'er the eventide flooded the earth with effulgent glory, and
each little star began to wonder who I was, to the loftiest turret of his
quite commodious castle this dwarf would climb, and muse upon sciology and
the cosmic forces.

[Illustration]

"Oh! Life is joy--is peace to me!" would he cry, ever and anon.

And ever an anonymous owl would scream, "To whoo? To whoo?"

Upon one eventful eve he sat upon his turret.

Gazing around, he sprang upon his feet.

"What, ho!" he cried, as a glimmer of light shot across the surface of the
lake, "What, ho! A light in the ship-house! Tis the red light of danger! I
forbode."

Glancing around and beneath him, he perceived that the stucco was peeling
from his favorite turret. "Here is danger, indeed!" he said; and loudly
shouted for his ah! too dilatory servant to bring the ladder by which he