54 MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN. 



blew from the south so soft and treacherous ! 

 A thrush sang in the woods so deceitfully ! 

 All Nature seemed fair. But who was to 

 give me back my peas ? The fowls of the 

 air have peas ; but what has man ! 



I went into the house. I called Calvin. 

 (That is the name of our cat, given him on 

 account of his gravity, morality, and up- 

 rightness. We never familiarly call him 

 John.) I petted Calvin. I lavished upon 

 him an enthusiastic fondness. I told him 

 that he had no fault ; that the one action 

 that I had called a vice was an heroic exhi- 

 bition of regard for my interests. I bade 

 him go and do likewise continually. I now 

 saw how much better instinct is than mere 

 unguided reason. Calvin knew. If he had 

 put his opinion into English (instead of his 

 native catalogue), it would have been, " You 

 need not teach your grandmother to suck 

 eggs." It was only the round of Nature. 

 The worms eat a noxious something in the 

 ground. The birds eat the worms. Calvin 

 eats the birds. We eat no, we do not eat 



