第一次知道Don E.Schultz教授的大名是在书店里。他的《整合营销传播》是第一本整合营销传播方面的书籍，也是该领域最具有权威性的经典著作。书中提出的战略性整合营销传播理论，成为了20世纪后半叶最主要的营销理论之一。为此，他被誉为“世界整合营销之父”。品牌营销是个很具有吸引力。但是正如Don E.Schultz 教授在Brand Babble一书里所说的，“市场上到处充斥着品牌妄语－－可谓多种观点、多种说法，道不完的概念，数不尽的权威。每个人都在信口雌黄，可是没有谁的话有多少道理，如果没有道理可言的话。他们甚至干出了无知妄为的事情。”（摘之人民邮电出版社出版的《唐·舒尔茨论品牌》，高增安/赵红翻译）。偶然一次机会在书摊上瞥到《新营销》的封面上有Don E.Schultz的文章《品牌专家的小把戏》，不由一阵狂喜，的确，我很需要这样的文章刺激一下麻痹的神经。我深知本人不才，知识肤浅，还好，我勉强还有点上进之心。以下是转载自《新营销》网络版（http://www.nmktmag.com）的《品牌专家的小把戏》，如果要是有原版就好了。看过Don E.Schultz教授的书，很赞叹于他老人家的“不客气”，非常难得有如此“不饶人”的个性，呵呵。

 

 

再读鲁迅的《秋夜》，已经没有念书时那股专注于课文与考试的因果论证，特别受吸引的是他家那2棵枣树，有学者说，这2棵单调的树寄托着作者的孤独心境，如何说是孤独，或许能从那真的毫无相干的遍身的颜色苍翠得可爱，可怜的蛾虫子找出有点相干的关系，作者花了近150个汉字来描写无关紧要的小飞虫子是如何的撞击灯罩，又如何的停落在灯罩上；也有学者说，那是作者的写法不拘于条条框框，当年鲁迅、胡适等人提倡白话反对文言文，而任何尝试突破条框的机会都是绝对不放过的了；还有人恶搞个假设，如果这是鲁迅的作文，那肯定是不及格，哈哈哈，其实我也确信真的有园丁会这么一刀切下去的，呵呵。但是，撇开所谓的权威学者研究结果，其实，“一株是枣树，还有一株也是枣树”式孤独的情绪早已丝丝渗进了我的想法。

 

在鲁迅的第一篇用白话文写的小说《狂人日记》发表前2年，胡适也尝试那么一首用白话文写的诗，诗名是《蝴蝶》：

两个黄蝴蝶，双双飞上天。

不知为什么，一个忽飞还。

剩下那一个，孤单怪可怜。

也无心上天，天上太孤单。

 

用现在的欣赏水平看，这首诗真的不见得有汪式的撩情(我想，诗之所以撩情是因为诗的作用是用来撩情的，也好像撩情的诗才是诗)，都有点怀疑是否出自胡大师之手。想想去年被恶搞的女诗人赵丽华女士真的可怜，恶搞的加料是她那首诗《一个人在田纳西》－“毫无疑问/我做的馅饼/是全天下/最好吃的”，啊！不禁为她嫉妒起胡适的幸运来，而胡适的幸运多少也得益于当年的落后通讯技术。其实，作为创立白话文的第一代人之一，胡适的尝试也被嘲笑过，甚至来之于好友，“白话诗无甚可取”。孤单的蝴蝶，是他当时孤单一人，得不到支持而苦闷心情的自然流露载体。再细读赵女士的诗，一个人在异乡，循着记忆，亲自做的馅饼毫无疑问成了当时孤单心情的自然流露载体。我人较为中庸，对于赵女生的遭遇，只能深表同情，也不见得我要请来鲁迅、胡适两位大师为她伸冤。从文字上来看，无论是鲁迅的“一株是枣树，还有一株也是枣树”，还是胡适的“两个黄蝴蝶，双双飞上天”，足以成为现在流行恶搞的笑柄。是现在人们的文学水平都提高得太快了，还是表达自由意识太过于强烈了(听闻居然有人将潘东子也恶搞了一番，真想不透这到底能有多少噱头)？

 

再说，我的赏诗文水平真的次，我的文化水平也不高，大街上摆摊的说不定都能够得上我的水平。之所以想起了鲁迅的枣树，胡适的蝴蝶，是源于他们在经历了尝试、探索过程中的孤独和苦闷，仿佛是我所面临的事情的预兆：被条框架住，被无由无形的重力压住，被成见栓住，被诱惑箍住，被自己的胆小吓住。

 

我的尝试普通得不伟大，我不能否认，尝试是成长的路标，或许会步入错路，或许从此荣耀无比。我也必须牢记在心，尝试只能是一个人的事情，没有伙伴，也不应该带上伙伴来尝试自己的人生。

 

大一的时候，阿卫给我寄了本当时比较红火的网络小说《第一次亲密接触》。男主角有段精彩的独白：

“如果我有一千万，我就能买一栋房子。

我有一千万吗？没有。

所有我仍然没有房子。

如果我有翅膀，我就能飞。

我有翅膀吗？没有。

所有我也没有办法飞。

如果把整个太平洋的水倒出，也浇不熄我对你爱情的火焰。

整个太平洋的水全部倒得出吗？不行。

所以我并不爱你。”

 

后来，男主角爱上了女主角，女主角也爱上男主角(故事这样发展比较好点，单恋很bored的)。也许韩剧的悲剧影响力早早登陆了台湾岛，故事里的爱情故事要比Love Story来得更离奇的悲怆。女主角最后在信中颠覆了男主角那段做作矜持的独白：

“如果我还有一天寿命，那天我要做你女友。

我还有一天的命吗？没有。

所以，很可惜。我今生仍然不是你的女友。

如果我有翅膀，我要从天堂飞下来看你。

我有翅膀吗？没有。

所以，很遗憾。我从此无法再看到你。

如果把整个浴缸的水倒出来，也浇不熄我对你爱情的火焰。

整个浴缸的水全部倒得出吗？可以。

所以，是的。我爱你。“

 

有时重温一下曾经红极一时的爱情片断，也是一种消遣。嗯，特别是”有时“，因为，千万不要挑选吵架后或者是分手后，那就不是一种消遣了。有时也可以是发泄。有人将两段独白巧妙的合并成一个问题，也许是故意增加看到的人的痛苦：“浴缸能装下整个太平洋吗？” 太平洋的确很大，很大，表达我的感情有余得不得了，但它真的的的确确能被一个不起眼的浴缸装下咯！所以，貌似不可能的事情，的的确确可以发生，特别是极不愿意其发生的事情，而且是挖空心思吹涨这样的事情的不可能性的时候，看到这个问题就像饮鸩一杯，自寻苦恼。

 

我能不为你加班加点吗？不能，浴缸都能装下整个太平洋，加班加点算什么！

 

这就是庸人自扰式痛苦了。找个结实的绳子。。。。别拦我哇！

如果你稍微留意的话，“80后”是个比较流行的词。有人给这个词更加具体的形容：凹造型80后，疯狂进化的一群。这群人崇尚我行我素，喜欢个性张扬(注：这里的“80后”是专指“80后作家”，并不是指常理中的代沟，作家是少数群体，样本不具有统计意义，谨慎分析之)。而这群人的代表人物多数读者都推举韩寒作为代表，我也是LOL赞成得不得了。其他人选还有好几个，男的居多，不过我也就知道2个而已。Acosta是最近才知道的，一个挺漂亮的男生，挺娇作的男生(与现在超女群中短发大粗嗓门形成了明显对比)。也知道郭敬明，他的作品《梦里花落知多少》被法庭判定为抄袭庄羽作品《圈里圈外》，不过还是有不少的fans拥护着，天知道呢，崇拜有时跟爱就象一回事，是不需要理由。阿卫说，韩寒的最初的作品有点象钱钟书的笔风，恩，应该是说韩寒在学钱钟书的笔风。这个我也不了解了。钱钟书的作品我也就完整看完《写在人生边上》，也不过是清淡地翻了翻。他的《围城》，惭愧得很，我到目前为止只看到他们前往三闾大学的路上，还纠缠着是否如何取道去到目的地。所以韩寒的笔风风格是否跟钱钟书类似，我也无法论证，怕说错了话，抬举了韩寒，会招来一篮子臭鸡蛋。但看过王小波的一些有趣的短文后，感觉两者的幽默也是比较相似，但韩寒的稍显犀利了点，可能是年轻的缘故吧。之所以推举韩寒为80后的代表人物，是觉得他是真正将自己的生活个性了的人，我了解Acosta不多(海岩在自己的blog里说对这个小伙子的好感不错)，也只是大概看了郭敬明的几篇blog文章，知道他也在推出音乐小说(现在的文人是越来越多才多艺了，几米的绘本加音乐也是非常热捧中)。与韩寒相比，他们俩只是秀了生活。韩寒的个性在于，他知道如何把握自己的生活。看起来，好像挺废话的一句评价。虽然我不是作家，但我也了解不少作家出了书成名后，还要继续出书，作家便是职业了。我在韩寒身上感觉到的是，写文章只是他一个爱好，至于出书，我想他的初衷应该不是为了成为作家而出书那么简单明了的。现在的韩寒是一个赛车手。他的职业是一名赛车手。他的blog里有不少提及他的赛车工作。关于自己的照片发表得很少。倒是Acosta发表了不少自己的自拍照。这年头，自拍的人实在太多了。但我宁可看到的是文字，而不是娇作的照片pose。有人说韩寒耍的是“撒娇文学”，何为“撒娇文学”，我也不懂，为什么这么叫，80后的人就算是89年出生的，今年也差不多要参加成人仪式了，说他们撒娇，实在是太“小看”了。

 

跟韩寒的鲜明个性相比，我是在70年代和80年代夹层中的，特别没有个性，或许是个性不知道如何取向就自然成了没个性。但又好比驼背了的人，挺胸时只顾得一个劲向前大概60度左右伸长脖子，而忘记了背还是没有正确的挺直起来，我在众多的70年代人面前装嫩，在80年代人前装老，变得游离。数数我身边的朋友，80后的不少。连阿卫都是。不自然中，我总往80年代靠，不敢用“心态年轻”来美言自己，实在是因为思想落后，既没跟上大部队，也没插好后面的队伍。

 

。。。。。

 

扯多了。实际上我是在侃，侃得蹩脚的那种。乱侃期间小蒙老用些有趣的提问骚扰我，比如我的三围是多少，我和阿卫kiss最久多长时间 恩，恩，可以用挤扁的牙膏管形容我的身材，然后kiss的时间，说实话，没在意过，哪象小蒙看着手表计时啊，当是比赛啊？

工作了，书读的少了。这真是个奇怪的现象。回想以前读书得最如痴如醉的时候应该是从小学6年纪开始一直到高二吧。高三的时候时间无私地奉献给了高考，还算功夫不负有心人，也考上了。大学里也陆续看了一些书，但不多，差不多大四的时候才渐渐读得多点。

 

6年级前读得比较多都是一些少年周刊，特别喜欢看郑渊洁的《童话大王》，仍然还记得在他童话中那神奇的小红汽车。至于皮皮鲁或鲁西西自己却兴趣不大，虽然他们是主角。我想那辆小车引起我如此的兴趣，可能是每次我看的时候，我总想不通，玩具小车里面的方向盘是固定住的，转不动的，它怎么能开啊？到了6年级，受到政治教育的熏陶有了一定的积累，自己开始看《钢铁是怎么炼成的》、《青年近卫军》、《母亲》等前苏联作品，限于当时只是对祖国的热爱，所以看这些书也没有挑很大部头的，而是简缩版的。《钢铁是怎么炼成的》我都记不住情节了，只是一直纳闷他咋那么爱干好事啊，呵呵，看来我当时幼小的心灵里还有一个放肆的角落。至于《青年近卫军》，哇，别提了，我压根就没看完过，就记住了书名。最让我感到一种扩然的感觉的是《母亲》，我看得真的是津津有味，或许是因为里面有母亲如何跟敌人捉迷藏的情节吧，至少比《钢》《青》的纯粹好人好事要寻味得多。

 

到了初中时，狂恋巴尔扎克！其中《驴皮记》看了有3遍。虽然课本上有介绍巴尔扎克的作品，但是极少提及到《驴皮记》。他的《幻灭》没有读完。这部作品里情节不那么清晰，巴尔扎克经典的议论文段特别多。对于当时的我，是怎么也理解不了里面的青年。中国的古典小说比如《三国演义》、《水浒传》也是这个时期看的。说实话，完全是慕名而看的。我直到现在还记不住他们怎么就上了梁山的（不要笑我啊～～～），《三国演义》记得最清楚的情节就是诸葛亮死后如何耍一个叫司马什么的。是直到高中才看的《红楼梦》。考完中考后，看了金庸的《天龙八部》，恩，非常好看，看得我连吃饭都忘了。接下来看的是《鹿鼎记》。高中看了一些书，不过印象不深了，记得是课本上介绍以外的作家的书，但基本上都忘记了名字了，能记住的也就是莫言了，还有一些从学校图书馆国外中短篇作品和人物传记，比如《亨利一世》（忘了具体是一世还是六世了，其实情节也没有记住多少）。高二的时候还读了《西游记》全本，很清楚的记得里面有个成语写做“至心朝礼”，其实也不是成语，就是个四字词语，主要是佛教礼仪里的用语。之所以记得清楚，原因我就不多说啦，呵呵。

 

大学里主要是集中在大三下半学期和大四。有余华的三部曲《活着》《许三观卖血记》、《在细雨微风中呐喊》，还有巴金的《家》、《春》、《秋》，日本作家渡边纯一的《失乐园》、《一片雪》，村上春树的《挪威的森林》（这本书需要有点压抑感的人看了才有共鸣，像我这种整天无事也傻乐着的人不适合看这类的书），还有一些知识型的作品，商务出版社出版的那种，如《笑的历史》。也有比较时尚的书，比如阿卫送给我的《第一次亲密接触》，对男主人公没有感到多大意思，但阿泰这个形象却逗乐极了，老蔡解释阿泰的行为是因为阿泰曾经被女孩子甩过。啧啧，什么道理啊。韩寒的作品我想想应该是大一到大二之间这段时间看的，有《三重门》、《零下一度》，去年的《长安乱》没看，阿卫倒是看了，听阿卫的评价，这书写得还不错。

 

咳、咳...... 突然心血如潮，把自己的读书经历拿出来抖抖了，其实能记得住也就这些了。书还是读得少了啊！去年看的是《达芬奇密码》、《丑陋的中国人》、《唐人街》。还有一些跟自己职业有关系的书。去年逛了书店几次，是有不少文学作品的，还看到了余华新出的《兄弟（上）》，怎么看封面上的上面那个人的照片特别像张学友。近期的《人物周刊》上有关于余华这个新作的评论，有褒有贬。不过我还没有买来看，不知道会不会超越《许三观卖血记》给我的感觉。

 

不过一直没有读过言情小说，什么琼瑶的，张小娴的。都没有看过。小蒙说，失恋的时候看这些比较好，应该是没有记错吧。。。我按小蒙的话去尝试张小娴的作品，但没有翻几页就索然无味了，后来改看《安徒生童话》了。

 

P.S. 小蒙提过《三联生活周刊》找过她做访问，可是我没有看到有关的文章bo，到底是第几期啊？

But the little Rabbit sat quite still for a moment and never moved. For when he saw all the wild rabbits dancing around him he suddenly remembered about his hind legs, and he didn't want them to see that he was made all in one piece. He did not know that when the Fairy kissed him that last time she had changed him altogether. And he might have sat there a long time, too shy to move, if just then something hadn't tickled his nose, and before he thought what he was doing he lifted his hind toe to scratch it.

And he found that he actually had hind legs! Instead of dingy velveteen he had brown fur, soft and shiny, his ears twitched by themselves, and his whiskers were so long that they brushed the grass. He gave one leap and the joy of using those hind legs was so great that he went springing about the turf on them, jumping sideways and whirling round as the others did, and he grew so excited that when at last he did stop to look for the Fairy she had gone.

He was a Real Rabbit at last, at home with the other rabbits.

Autumn passed and Winter, and in the Spring, when the days grew warm and sunny, the Boy went out to play in the wood behind the house. And while he was playing, two rabbits crept out from the bracken and peeped at him. One of them was brown all over, but the other had strange markings under his fur, as though long ago he had been spotted, and the spots still showed through. And about his little soft nose and his round black eyes there was something familiar, so that the Boy thought to himself:

"Why, he looks just like my old Bunny that was lost when I had scarlet fever!"

But he never knew that it really was his own Bunny, come back to look at the child who had first helped him to be Real.

(End)

And while the Boy was asleep, dreaming of the seaside, the little Rabbit lay among the old picture-books in the corner behind the fowl-house, and he felt very lonely. The sack had been left untied, and so by wriggling a bit he was able to get his head through the opening and look out. He was shivering a little, for he had always been used to sleeping in a proper bed, and by this time his coat had worn so thin and threadbare from hugging that it was no longer any protection to him. Near by he could see the thicket of raspberry canes, growing tall and close like a tropical jungle, in whose shadow he had played with the Boy on bygone mornings. He thought of those long sunlit hours in the garden–how happy they were–and a great sadness came over him. He seemed to see them all pass before him, each more beautiful than the other, the fairy huts in the flower-bed, the quiet evenings in the wood when he lay in the bracken and the little ants ran over his paws; the wonderful day when he first knew that he was Real. He thought of the Skin Horse, so wise and gentle, and all that he had told him. Of what use was it to be loved and lose one's beauty and become Real if it all ended like this? And a tear, a real tear, trickled down his little shabby velvet nose and fell to the ground.

And then a strange thing happened. For where the tear had fallen a flower grew out of the ground, a mysterious flower, not at all like any that grew in the garden. It had slender green leaves the colour of emeralds, and in the centre of the leaves a blossom like a golden cup. It was so beautiful that the little Rabbit forgot to cry, and just lay there watching it. And presently the blossom opened, and out of it there stepped a fairy.

She was quite the loveliest fairy in the whole world. Her dress was of pearl and dew-drops, and there were flowers round her neck and in her hair, and her face was like the most perfect flower of all. And she came close to the little Rabbit and gathered him up in her arms and kissed him on his velveteen nose that was all damp from crying.

"Little Rabbit," she said, "don't you know who I am?"

The Rabbit looked up at her, and it seemed to him that he had seen her face before, but he couldn't think where.

"I am the nursery magic Fairy," she said. "I take care of all the playthings that the children have loved. When they are old and worn out and the children don't need them any more, then I come and take them away with me and turn them into Real."

"Wasn't I Real before?" asked the little Rabbit.

"You were Real to the Boy," the Fairy said, "because he loved you. Now you shall be Real to every one."

And she held the little Rabbit close in her arms and flew with him into the wood.

It was light now, for the moon had risen. All the forest was beautiful, and the fronds of the bracken shone like frosted silver. In the open glade between the tree-trunks the wild rabbits danced with their shadows on the velvet grass, but when they saw the Fairy they all stopped dancing and stood round in a ring to stare at her.

"I've brought you a new playfellow," the Fairy said. "You must be very kind to him and teach him all he needs to know in Rabbit-land, for he is going to live with you for ever and ever!"

And she kissed the little Rabbit again and put him down on the grass.

"Run and play, little Rabbit!" she said.

Weeks passed, and the little Rabbit grew very old and shabby, but the Boy loved him just as much. He loved him so hard that he loved all his whiskers off, and the pink lining to his ears turned grey, and his brown spots faded. He even began to lose his shape, and he scarcely looked like a rabbit any more, except to the Boy. To him he was always beautiful, and that was all that the little Rabbit cared about. He didn't mind how he looked to other people, because the nursery magic had made him Real, and when you are Real shabbiness doesn't matter.

And then, one day, the Boy was ill.

His face grew very flushed, and he talked in his sleep, and his little body was so hot that it burned the Rabbit when he held him close. Strange people came and went in the nursery, and a light burned all night and through it all the little Velveteen Rabbit lay there, hidden from sight under the bedclothes, and he never stirred, for he was afraid that if they found him some one might take him away, and he knew that the Boy needed him.

It was a long weary time, for the Boy was too ill to play, and the little Rabbit found it rather dull with nothing to do all day long. But he snuggled down patiently, and looked forward to the time when the Boy should be well again, and they would go out in the garden amongst the flowers and the butterflies and play splendid games in the raspberry thicket like they used to. All sorts of delightful things he planned, and while the Boy lay half asleep he crept up close to the pillow and whispered them in his ear. And presently the fever turned, and the Boy got better. He was able to sit up in bed and look at picture-books, while the little Rabbit cuddled close at his side. And one day, they let him get up and dress.

It was a bright, sunny morning, and the windows stood wide open. They had carried the Boy out on to the balcony, wrapped in a shawl, and the little Rabbit lay tangled up among the bedclothes, thinking.

The Boy was going to the seaside to-morrow. Everything was arranged, and now it only remained to carry out the doctor's orders. They talked about it all, while the little Rabbit lay under the bedclothes, with just his head peeping out, and listened. The room was to be disinfected, and all the books and toys that the Boy had played with in bed must be burnt.

"Hurrah!" thought the little Rabbit. "To-morrow we shall go to the seaside!" For the boy had often talked of the seaside, and he wanted very much to see the big waves coming in, and the tiny crabs, and the sand castles.

Just then Nana caught sight of him.

"How about his old Bunny?" she asked.

"That?" said the doctor. "Why, it's a mass of scarlet fever germs!–Burn it at once. What? Nonsense! Get him a new one. He mustn't have that any more!"

And so the little Rabbit was put into a sack with the old picture-books and a lot of rubbish, and carried out to the end of the garden behind the fowl-house. That was a fine place to make a bonfire, only the gardener was too busy just then to attend to it. He had the potatoes to dig and the green peas to gather, but next morning he promised to come quite early and burn the whole lot.

That night the Boy slept in a different bedroom, and he had a new bunny to sleep with him. It was a splendid bunny, all white plush with real glass eyes, but the Boy was too excited to care very much about it. For to-morrow he was going to the seaside, and that in itself was such a wonderful thing that he could think of nothing else.

That was a wonderful Summer!

Near the house where they lived there was a wood, and in the long June evenings the Boy liked to go there after tea to play. He took the Velveteen Rabbit with him, and before he wandered off to pick flowers, or play at brigands among the trees, he always made the Rabbit a little nest somewhere among the bracken, where he would be quite cosy, for he was a kind-hearted little boy and he liked Bunny to be comfortable. One evening, while the Rabbit was lying there alone, watching the ants that ran to and fro between his velvet paws in the grass, he saw two strange beings creep out of the tall bracken near him.

They were rabbits like himself, but quite furry and brand-new. They must have been very well made, for their seams didn't show at all, and they changed shape in a queer way when they moved; one minute they were long and thin and the next minute fat and bunchy, instead of always staying the same like he did. Their feet padded softly on the ground, and they crept quite close to him, twitching their noses, while the Rabbit stared hard to see which side the clockwork stuck out, for he knew that people who jump generally have something to wind them up. But he couldn't see it. They were evidently a new kind of rabbit altogether.

They stared at him, and the little Rabbit stared back. And all the time their noses twitched.

"Why don't you get up and play with us?" one of them asked.

"I don't feel like it," said the Rabbit, for he didn't want to explain that he had no clockwork.

"Ho!" said the furry rabbit. "It's as easy as anything," And he gave a big hop sideways and stood on his hind legs.

"I don't believe you can!" he said.

"I can!" said the little Rabbit. "I can jump higher than anything!" He meant when the Boy threw him, but of course he didn't want to say so.

"Can you hop on your hind legs?" asked the furry rabbit.

That was a dreadful question, for the Velveteen Rabbit had no hind legs at all! The back of him was made all in one piece, like a pincushion. He sat still in the bracken, and hoped that the other rabbits wouldn't notice.

"I don't want to!" he said again.

But the wild rabbits have very sharp eyes. And this one stretched out his neck and looked.

"He hasn't got any hind legs!" he called out. "Fancy a rabbit without any hind legs!" And he began to laugh.

"I have!" cried the little Rabbit. "I have got hind legs! I am sitting on them!"

"Then stretch them out and show me, like this!" said the wild rabbit. And he began to whirl round and dance, till the little Rabbit got quite dizzy.

"I don't like dancing," he said. "I'd rather sit still!"

But all the while he was longing to dance, for a funny new tickly feeling ran through him, and he felt he would give anything in the world to be able to jump about like these rabbits did.

The strange rabbit stopped dancing, and came quite close. He came so close this time that his long whiskers brushed the Velveteen Rabbit's ear, and then he wrinkled his nose suddenly and flattened his ears and jumped backwards.

"He doesn't smell right!" he exclaimed. "He isn't a rabbit at all! He isn't real!"

"I am Real!" said the little Rabbit. "I am Real! The Boy said so!" And he nearly began to cry.

Just then there was a sound of footsteps, and the Boy ran past near them, and with a stamp of feet and a flash of white tails the two strange rabbits disappeared.

"Come back and play with me!" called the little Rabbit. "Oh, do come back! I know I am Real!"

But there was no answer, only the little ants ran to and fro, and the bracken swayed gently where the two strangers had passed. The Velveteen Rabbit was all alone.

"Oh, dear!" he thought. "Why did they run away like that? Why couldn't they stop and talk to me?"

For a long time he lay very still, watching the bracken, and hoping that they would come back. But they never returned, and presently the sun sank lower and the little white moths fluttered out, and the Boy came and carried him home.

There was a person called Nana who ruled the nursery. Sometimes she took no notice of the playthings lying about, and sometimes, for no reason whatever, she went swooping about like a great wind and hustled them away in cupboards. She called this "tidying up," and the playthings all hated it, especially the tin ones. The Rabbit didn't mind it so much, for wherever he was thrown he came down soft.

One evening, when the Boy was going to bed, he couldn't find the china dog that always slept with him. Nana was in a hurry, and it was too much trouble to hunt for china dogs at bedtime, so she simply looked about her, and seeing that the toy cupboard door stood open, she made a swoop.

"Here," she said, "take your old Bunny! He'll do to sleep with you!" And she dragged the Rabbit out by one ear, and put him into the Boy's arms.

That night, and for many nights after, the Velveteen Rabbit slept in the Boy's bed. At first he found it rather uncomfortable, for the Boy hugged him very tight, and sometimes he rolled over on him, and sometimes he pushed him so far under the pillow that the Rabbit could scarcely breathe. And he missed, too, those long moonlight hours in the nursery, when all the house was silent, and his talks with the Skin Horse. But very soon he grew to like it, for the Boy used to talk to him, and made nice tunnels for him under the bedclothes that he said were like the burrows the real rabbits lived in. And they had splendid games together, in whispers, when Nana had gone away to her supper and left the night-light burning on the mantelpiece. And when the Boy dropped off to sleep, the Rabbit would snuggle down close under his little warm chin and dream, with the Boy's hands clasped close round him all night long.

And so time went on, and the little Rabbit was very happy–so happy that he never noticed how his beautiful velveteen fur was getting shabbier and shabbier, and his tail becoming unsewn, and all the pink rubbed off his nose where the Boy had kissed him.

Spring came, and they had long days in the garden, for wherever the Boy went the Rabbit went too. He had rides in the wheelbarrow, and picnics on the grass, and lovely fairy huts built for him under the raspberry canes behind the flower border. And once, when the Boy was called away suddenly to go out to tea, the Rabbit was left out on the lawn until long after dusk, and Nana had to come and look for him with the candle because the Boy couldn't go to sleep unless he was there. He was wet through with the dew and quite earthy from diving into the burrows the Boy had made for him in the flower bed, and Nana grumbled as she rubbed him off with a corner of her apron.

"You must have your old Bunny!" she said. "Fancy all that fuss for a toy!"

The Boy sat up in bed and stretched out his hands.

"Give me my Bunny!" he said. "You mustn't say that. He isn't a toy. He's REAL!"

When the little Rabbit heard that he was happy, for he knew that what the Skin Horse had said was true at last. The nursery magic had happened to him, and he was a toy no longer. He was Real. The Boy himself had said it.

That night he was almost too happy to sleep, and so much love stirred in his little sawdust heart that it almost burst. And into his boot-button eyes, that had long ago lost their polish, there came a look of wisdom and beauty, so that even Nana noticed it next morning when she picked him up, and said, "I declare if that old Bunny hasn't got quite a knowing expression!"

For a long time he lived in the toy cupboard or on the nursery floor, and no one thought very much about him. He was naturally shy, and being only made of velveteen, some of the more expensive toys quite snubbed him. The mechanical toys were very superior, and looked down upon every one else; they were full of modern ideas, and pretended they were real. The model boat, who had lived through two seasons and lost most of his paint, caught the tone from them and never missed an opportunity of referring to his rigging in technical terms. The Rabbit could not claim to be a model of anything, for he didn't know that real rabbits existed; he thought they were all stuffed with sawdust like himself, and he understood that sawdust was quite out-of-date and should never be mentioned in modern circles. Even Timothy, the jointed wooden lion, who was made by the disabled soldiers, and should have had broader views, put on airs and pretended he was connected with Government. Between them all the poor little Rabbit was made to feel himself very insignificant and commonplace, and the only person who was kind to him at all was the Skin Horse.

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him. (to be continued)

THERE was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted brown and white, he had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen. On Christmas morning, when he sat wedged in the top of the Boy's stocking, with a sprig of holly between his paws, the effect was charming.

There were other things in the stocking, nuts and oranges and a toy engine, and chocolate almonds and a clockwork mouse, but the Rabbit was quite the best of all. For at least two hours the Boy loved him, and then Aunts and Uncles came to dinner, and there was a great rustling of tissue paper and unwrapping of parcels, and in the excitement of looking at all the new presents the Velveteen Rabbit was forgotten. (to be continued)