it. I should like to get up a Happy Family
of men, and show 'em. I should like to put
the Rajah Brooke, the Peace Society, Captain
Aaron Smith, several Malay Pirates, Doctor
Wiseman, the Reverend Hugh Stowell, Mr.
Fox of Oldham, the Board of Health, all the
London undertakers, some of the Common
(very common I think) Council, and all the
vested interests in the filth and misery of
the poor, into a good-sized cage, and see how
they'd get on. I should like to look in at 'em
through the bars, after they had undergone
the training I have undergone. You wouldn't
find Sir Peter Laurie 'putting down' Sanitary
Reform then, or getting up in that vestry,
and pledging his word and honour to the
non-existence of Saint Paul's Cathedral, I
expect! And very happy he 'd be, would n't
he, when he couldn't do that sort of thing?

I have no idea of you lords of the creation
coming staring at me in this false position.
Why don't you look at home? If you think
I 'm fond of the dove, you 're very much
mistaken. If you imagine there is the least good
will between me and the pigeon, you never
were more deceived in your lives. If you
suppose I wouldn't demolish the whole Family
(myself excepted), and the cage too, if I had
my own way, you don't know what a real
Raven is. But if you do know this, why am
I to be picked out as a curiosity? Why don't
you go and stare at the Bishop of Exeter?
'Ecod, he's one of our breed, if any body is!

Do you make me lead this public life because
I seem to be what I ain't? Why, I don't
make half the pretences that are common
among you men! You never heard me call
the sparrow my noble friend. When did I
ever tell the Guinea Pig that he was my
Christian brother? Name the occasion of my
making myself a party to the 'sham' (my
friend Mr. Carlyle will lend me his favourite
word for the occasion) that the cat hadn't
really her eye upon the mouse! Can you say
as much? What about the last Court Ball,
the next Debate in the Lords, the last great
Ecclesiastical Suit, the next long assembly in
the Court Circular? I wonder you are not
ashamed to look me in the eye! I am an
independent Member—of the Happy Family;
and I ought to be let out.

I have only one consolation in my inability
to damage anything, and that is that I hope
I am instrumental in propagating a delusion
as to the character of Ravens. I have a strong
impression that the sparrows on our beat
are beginning to think they may trust
a Raven. Let 'em try! There's an uncle of
mine, in a stable-yard down in Yorkshire,
who will very soon undeceive any small bird
that may favour him with a call.

The dogs too. Ha ha! As they go by, they
look at me and this dog, in quite a friendly
way. They never suspect how I should hold
on to the tip of his tail, if I consulted my own
feelings instead of our proprietor's. It's
almost worth being here, to think of some
confiding dog who has seen me, going too near
a friend of mine who lives at a hackney-coach
stand in Oxford Street. You wouldn't stop
his squeaking in a hurry, if my friend got a
chance at him.

It's the same with the children. There's
a young gentleman with a hat and feathers,
resident in Portland Place, who brings a penny
to our proprietor, twice a week. He wears
very short white drawers, and has mottled
legs above his socks. He hasn't the least idea
what I should do to his legs, if I consulted
my own inclinations. He never imagines what
I am thinking of, when we look at one another.
May he only take those legs, in their present
juicy state, close to the cage of my
brother-in-law of the Zoological Gardens, Regent's
Park!

Call yourselves rational beings, and talk
about our being reclaimed? Why, there isn't
one of us who wouldn't astonish you, if we
could only get out! Let me out, and see
whether I should be meek or not. But this
is the way you always go on in—you know
you do. Up at Pentonville, the sparrow says
—and he ought to know, for he was born in a
stack of chimneys in that prison—you are
spending I am afraid to say how much every
year out of the rates, to keep men in solitude,
where they CAN'T do any harm (that you
know of), and then you sing all sorts of
choruses about their being good. So am I what
you call good—here. Why? Because I can't
help it. Try me outside!

You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, the
Magpie says; and I agree with him. If you
are determined to pet only those who take
things and hide them, why don't you pet the
Magpie and me? We are interesting enough
for you, ain't we? The Mouse says you are
not half so particular about the honest people.
He is not a bad authority. He was almost
starved when he lived in a workhouse, wasn't
he? He didn't get much fatter, I suppose,
when he moved to a labourer's cottage? He
was thin enough when he came from that
place, here—I know that. And what does
the Mouse (whose word is his bond) declare?
He declares that you don't take half the care
you ought; of your own young, and don't teach
'em half enough. Why don't you then? You
might give our proprietor something to do, I
should think, in twisting miserable boys and
girls into their proper nature, instead of
twisting us out of ours. You are a nice set of
fellows, certainly, to come and look at Happy
Families, as if you had nothing else to look
after!

I take the opportunity of our proprietor's
pen and ink in the evening, to write this. I
shall put it away in a corner—quite sure, as
it's intended for the Post Office, of Mr.
Rowland Hill's getting hold of it somehow, and
sending it to somebody. I understand he can
do anything with a letter. Though the Owl
says (but I don't believe him), that the present
prevalence of measles and chicken-pox among