“I congratulate you on your university training. Even if one knows nothing on leaving the walls of such an institution, one is credited with profound knowledge. The important part of life consists not in being, but in appearing to be.” It is said that I sold myself; it is a mistake, I was bought, that was all. Besides, the advantageous post just given to me belonged to no one; it was made expressly for me. There is a ring at the bell, it is a deputation of animals. “We come,” said the chief of the deputation humbly, “to represent to your Highness that something is wanting in our glorious constitution.” {235} “What?” said the Fox. “Sir,” replied the deputy, “what will posterity say to our pulling through a revolution without eating or drinking?” [Illustration: THE DEPUTATION.] {236} “Gentlemen,” said His Highness President Fox, “I note with pleasure your attention to important details, and that the country may rely upon your practical common sense. Go and dine.” [Illustration: GOING TO THE BANQUET.] A great public dinner was prepared, in token of rejoicing, in a field {237} in front of the amphitheatre. As on all similar occasions, there was much speech-making and little food, at least for many of the most deserving supporters of the republic. The Insects were relegated to an obscure position, politely called the place of honour, where they feasted on fine phrases. In consideration of his position, the Fox, as President, was supported by a Duck and Indian Hen, who kept a respectful distance from His Excellency. It was a most amicable gathering. The views expressed were as diverse as the individuals present. One said white, another black; one red, another green; and all agreed that the speakers were the living representatives of worth, genius, and national progress. The Fox was everything to every one. He had a smile and kind word for each guest. “You do not eat,” he said to the Cormorant. “Are you ill?” to the White Bear; “you seem pale.” To his _vis à vis_, “Have the Wolves no teeth now?” To the Penguin, who was yawning, “You require rest after your exploits.” To the Blackbird, “You seem silent.” And to all, “My good friends, use your pens freely.” At last came the toasts, the time for oratorical display. You should have watched how each one retired within himself, scratched his head or pensively caressed his tail as a means of inspiration, how each silently rehearsed his little speech. Unfortunately the order of the toasts had been arranged beforehand—not only the order, but the number as well. Splendid fasting might be forgiven, but the cancelling of a cherished toast—never! In spite of this wise precaution, there were so many speakers that my pen and patience alike failed to enumerate them. As may be imagined, the first toast was Liberty; this is traditional, and it is no fault of those who dine if liberty makes a poor show on such occasions. By courtesy the second was the Ladies, couched in