Beasts of England, beasts of Ireland, 

Beasts of every land and clime, 

Hearken to my joyful tidings 

Of the golden future time. 

 

 

MR JONES, of the Manor Farm, had locked the hen-houses for the night, but was too drunk to remember to shut the pop-holes. With the ring of light from his lantern dancing from side to side he lurched across the yard, kicked off his boots at the back door, and made his way up to bed.

            As soon as the light in the bedroom went out there was a stirring all through the farm buildings. Word had gone round that old Major, the prize Middle White boar, had had a strange dream and wished to communicate it to the other animals. It had been agreed that they should all meet in the big barn as soon as Mr Jones was safely out of the way.