A mouse, while slaking his thirst on the margin of a pond, after a hot pursuit by a weasel, enters into conversation with a frog on the merits of their respective modes of life. The frog invites the mouse to a nearer inspection of the abode and habits of his own nation, and for this purpose offers him a sail on his back. When the party are at some distance from land, the head of an otter suddenly appears on the surface. The terrified frog at once dives to the bottom, disengaging himself from his rider, who, with many a struggle and bitter imprecations on his betrayer, is involved in a watery grave. Another mouse, who from the shore had witnessed the fate of his unfortunate comrade, reports it to his fellow-citizens. A council is held, and war declared against the nation of the offender. “Jupiter and the gods deliberate in Olympus on the issue of the contest. Mars and Minerva decline personal interference, as well from the awe inspired by such mighty combatants as from previous ill-will towards both contending powers, in consequence of injuries inflicted by each on their divine persons or properties. A band of mosquitoes sound the war-alarum with their trumpets, and, after a bloody engagement, the frogs are defeated with great slaughter. Jupiter, sympathising with their fate, endeavours in vain by his thunders to intimidate the victors from further pursuit. The rescue of the frogs, however, is effected by an army of land-crabs, who appear as their allies, and before whom the mice, in their turn, are speedily put to flight.” _The Battle of the Frogs and Mice_, then, is well described as the earliest and most successful extant specimen of the “mock-heroic,” the double object of which is, according to Barrow’s famous definition, to debase things pompous and elevate things mean. An amusing version of this Homeric _jeu d’esprit_ was published in 1851 by an author who gave himself out as the “Singing Mouse,” “the last minstrel of his race.” “The theme,” he says, “belongs to that heroic age of which history has recorded that the very mountains laboured when a mouse was born.” The metre of this translation has been altered from the stately elegance of the original to one which is perhaps better fitted to the subject in itself than to its special object as a travestie on the epic style of the _Iliad_. The names of the heroes are happily rendered; but it will be seen that some difference exists between this author and the one just cited as to certain of the zoological terms in the poem. _THE MEETING_ I