“Take away that scoundrel!” Thus ended the nightingale’s, ambitious dreams. He was quickly hustled into a hen-coop and sold out of the way to the tavern “Parting Friends,” where, to this day, he fills with sweet poison the hearts of tipsy “meteors.” Nevertheless, the work of public instruction was not abandoned. The fledgling vultures and falcons attended the gymnasium regularly; the Academy of Science began to publish a dictionary, and got half through the letter A; the woodpecker finished the tenth volume of “The History of Bogies.” The robin, however, kept very quiet. From the first day he had felt an instinctive conviction that all this educational rage would come to a speedy and grievous end; and apparently his presentiments were well founded. The troubles began with a grave mistake on the part of the owl and falcon, who had accepted the management of the work of education: they took it into their heads to teach the Eagle himself to read and write. They taught him upon the easy and agreeable phonetic system; but, notwithstanding all their efforts, after a whole year’s training, instead of “Eagle,” he signed his name “Agull”; the result of which was that he could not get a single respectable financier to accept his bonds. The owl and falcon also made another great mistake: like all pedagogues, they never gave their pupil any peace. Every minute of the day the owl would follow at the poor Eagle’s heels, screaming out, “B-b-b-b; Z-z-z; D-d-d; K-k-k;” while the falcon as incessantly dinned into his ears that it is impossible to divide the prey one has caught without knowing the first four rules of arithmetic. “Suppose you have stolen ten goslings, of which you have given two to the police-inspector’s clerk, and eaten one yourself, how many have you left?” asked the falcon, in a reproachful voice. The Eagle was not able to work this problem, so he remained silent; but anger against the falcon burned in his heart more and more fiercely with every day. All this resulted in a condition of general tension, which was at once taken advantage of by intriguing adventurers. The ringleader of the conspiracy was the kite; he enticed over the cuckoo, who took to whispering in the ear of the female Eagle— “They are simply killing our dear master with their learning.” Whereupon the female Eagle began ironically calling her mate “Wiseacre! Wiseacre!” The conspirators next turned their energies to the business of arousing “evil passions” in the vulture. One morning, just at dawn, and while the Eagle was still sleepily rubbing his eyes, the owl, as usual, slipped behind him and began her eternal buzzing in his ear— “V-v-v.... Z-z-z.... R-r-r——” “Oh! go away, you awful bore!” murmured the Eagle, wearily. “Be so good, your worship, as to repeat B-b-b.... K-k-k.... M-m-m——” “I tell you, for the second time, go away!” “P-p-p.... H-h-h.... Sh-sh-sh——” “For the third time, go away!” “S-s-s.... F-f-f.... J-j-j——”